


A Dark Troy

by BookishBrains



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-09
Updated: 2017-11-29
Packaged: 2018-02-16 17:12:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 51,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2277963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BookishBrains/pseuds/BookishBrains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione discovers a darker side to Helen's mythical situation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Dark Troy

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted on Fanfiction.net; however, I was invited to post it here and to continue the story. It has been about a year since I was invited and I wish to send out my apologize for it taking so long for me to get it up on the site. I plan to stick with it no matter what and try and get the whole story up and running on here. I'm going to try and edit it a bit for a better read, but you'll have to tell me what you think. 
> 
> \--BookishBrains

She watched it fall; not once taking her eyes off of the crumbling castle. Even the sway and jerk of her captor's uneven gate could not peel her gaze from the devastation. A giant, many times Hagrid's size and in a rage, was currently beating its way into the side of her beloved home and at it's massive feet was the most chaotic mass of lights and bodies she has ever seen. Spells, those magnificent lights were spells, and stray ones collided with the damp stone, aiding the powerful beast in his onslaught. If she tilted her head upward in an aching position she could see boulders flying from the tree tops into the different towers. If she squinted and thought back to a time when things were less painful she could name which tower fell, but now wasn't the time. Thankfully, she only witnessed one gorgeous tower fall because her captor began to stumble. Gasping from the sharp pain his shoulder caused in her stomach she peered down to see large blackened roots.

A fear born of many visits to this place settled into her gut, but she swallowed it down and returned her bouncing gaze to the still visible massacre. Just in time, to watch a large piece of the castle slip from it's broken perch and crush two unsuspecting duelers under its weight. Before she could think better of it she imagined the sickening sound of their bones crushing, organs squelching and she almost lost it in a fit of nausea. A dark liquid pooled out from under the misshapen debris and merged with the muck at everyone's feet. Briefly she wondered if they felt any pain when being crushed below the rock, but she quickly forced it away. Squinting she peered closer at the muck and noticed that the rancid concoction was a potion of mud and blood. The smell hit her hard once her brain registered the ingredients. She had smelt death, but this was ruin. This was the Battle of Troy remade.

Looking toward the warriors she noticed that hugging close to the crumbling base of the destroyed castle were black and red flames; their appetite growing with each burst of wind and breathy spell from the witches and wizards dueling. Heavy cloaks were either so soaked from the sweat and much that they clung to their owner's bodies tightly. The mud and blood swamped the field and clung to the fighter's boots tightly. She imagined the mixture running through her veins like so many had said before, mudblood. Thick blades of grass peeked over the top of the staining substance with fresh red liquid running down their thin faces.

Flashes of the various colored spells lit up the field and revealed the delta of bleeding corpses lumped all along the field. In these areas the dark combination was thicker and more abundant, supplying the rest of the large area. Allies and enemies lay sprawled along the earth together with red mud splattered across their pale lifeless faces and caked thickly into their seeping wounds.

The sight made her gag. She was forced to press her hot forehead to the damp cloak of her capture. Her fists clenched claw like onto the ropy shoulders of the distinctly male form. He made no indication of even noticing her tight grip. The cool feeling of his cloak helped her to swallow down the lumpy puke sliding up her throat. Screams of agony and despair warped her courageous will into sympathy for both parties as casualty after casualty crashed upon the sopping ground. She could hear the splatters of blood and mud fly around the bodies like a rock breaking the surface of the massive lake to their left. Unintentionally, she glanced to the far lake that was fast disappearing, praying for some reprieve from the terror.

But, none was to be had. Ear shattering screeches echoed out from the dark expanse of water as the life fluid of the fighters mixed into its murky depths. The Mermaids could no longer sing beneath the death and decay intruding in on their homes. The human pollution slipped past gills and prevented them from breathing. The unlucky ones, who never reached the top in time to breath through their human lungs, floated at different angles on the surface of the lake. Tears sprang to her eyes as she turned back to the barely visible battle field. It was flickering out of sight like a camp fire in the distance.

Cackling dark cloaks flooded the area in far more numbers than the panicking royal blue of her side. She knew the war was lost to them, but many would continue to fight. Fight until they no longer drew breath. It was not a stubborn Gryffindor attribute it was a noble one and a cowardly one all the same. She hated those who would leave everyone behind. Leave those who are too weak and frightened to welcome death like a true warrior would, but she wasn't a warrior was she? How could she blame them for something she would not take herself? But, she wasn't weak and neither were those who still breathed, still lived. She was a scholar, and protector. A shield rather than a sword and she would hold tightly to what she believed to be true. A sword chipped and had to be remade over and over, but a shield. A shield was thick and made to take blows and still stand to make its own attack. A blunt shove in the right direction can impale a foe onto another's sword tip, easily. She had watched over two boys for the majority of her life and today, she had watched them fall back to back in the face of a war. A war no freshly graduated young adult should have had to fight in the first place.

Harry hadn't allowed her to go with them and, so, she had gone back to Hogwarts to watch over those who needed her the most. And, that is why she was in the predicament of being slung over a Death Eaters's shoulder rather than lying amongst the dead before the once towering castle known as Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She hated the front row seat the male wizard had given her but she found a type of peace in watching her friends fight proudly for their beliefs. And that meant that their time was over. Their deaths announced the start of the fight of the advisors and strategists, who would endure and change the Dark World to their advantage.

She knew that her physical talents could have given their side an advantage but not enough to win. She understood her part in the war and stayed to head the mental group. The second force of the Order's army that would fight long after the Boy-Who-Lived was deceased. Their wills were honed to be the strongest. Minds focused solely on the purpose of befuddling and baffling. The training they had endured was pain of the body and mind. They had to breathe, they had to live, and they had to watch their loved ones fall. It made them stronger to mourn.

The view of the battle had long ago been lost behind the Forbidden Forest's permanently black trees but the vision inside her head would never vanish. The screams could still be heard from the distance between her position and the once cheerful grounds. Closing her burning hazel eyes she listened to the soft tread of her companion's assailants. Her friends weren't visible but she could sense their presence close by and it comforted her to know that they were alright. No sound escaped their sealed lips because that would destroy their purpose. Destroy what they had been molded to accomplish and that was out of the question. But, such determination didn't stop the pain or tears from coming and she allowed them to flow down her cheeks, hot and moist.

They would be sold into bondage and forced to endure the humiliation of heinous tasks. But, that is what they had been taught to endure. The ones being carried now were the first spoils of war and a symbol that the Dark Lord was going to use to their full advantage. Ginny was Harry Potter's wife. Lavender was the lover and fiancé of Ronald Weasley. Luna Lovegood was an apprenticed Seer. Neville Longbottom was the Order's top Herbologist. And, she, Hermione Granger, she is the last of the Golden Trio. She knew where they were headed and where she would be thrown or placed. They would force her to her knees at his feet.

The intense atmosphere had thinned slightly as they continued deeper into the deadly forest and the air had cooled. The only sound that could be heard from the battle was the loud stomping of the giants who had allied themselves with the Dark Lord. The creatures were too stupid to resist his allure and manipulation. They were just a hair above Trolls. She shivered at the remembrance of her first year in the girl's lavatory. The Death Eater shook her roughly for the sudden movement and she couldn't hold back the silent growl in her chest. Her stomach had been pressed painfully in the man's pointed shoulder for the whole trip and it was starting to bruise.

Chuckling darkly the man came to a sudden stop in a small moonlit opening. Hermione immediately knew they had reached the rendezvous point when the others emerged and stood close by, waiting. From her point she could only see Neville and his captor, the long expanse of trees, and eerie mists that dominated the whole forest. Sighing she settled into examining the area. Of course, the forest was Dark both in magic and time of day, but it was, without a doubt, beautiful in its own element. At night the monkshood that blossomed all along the edges of the trees lifted their violet heads to howl silently at the moon, and Enchanter's Nightshade peppered the ground underneath the flowers with a magical silver glow. Along many of the trees were thick dew covered spider webs, most likely from the Acromantulas that lived in the area, and large vines of ivy. She had been in the forest on more pressing matters such as potion ingredients and crazy journeys with her now deceased best friends, but she had never really examined how magnificently beautiful such a dangerous place could be. Its dark powers floated across the tree barks like silver memories swirling in a pensieve. The deadly forest was home to captivating creatures that would be condemned or hunted in society if they were to ever show their, stunning, scared or sickening faces.

She hated how things were, and she knew she was going to hate how things were going to be, but she would make the best of it. She would stay who she was no matter what. A series of three loud pops broke Hermione from her musings, and the fear inside of her grew. The atmosphere surrounding them was suddenly thick with powerful magic and it shook her to the bone. Hermione knew that he was one of the three who joined their small group.

She had just enough time to breathe deep before she was literally thrown from her perch to the uneven and concrete hard earth. She gasped in pain when a high root caught her outer thigh, but she settled for that. No tears. No cry. Her mind was too focused on the goal. Shifting off of the injured leg she gave one sweeping glance to her members still held like sacks of potatoes. Her Death Eater was a good nine feet away, give or take a couple, making her cringe at the distance she was tossed so carelessly. Shaking she turned to the coal black robes brushing silver scale-plated dragon hide boots crushing the ghostly pale grass in front of her. Power flowed from his being similar to the way heat rayed off of the sun. To his left and right stood two identical sets only the plates were black.

The already close set of boots stepped to her. She gripped the ground below her tightly as his magic wrapped loosely around her in a serpentine way, undulating about her body. She shirked slightly away from his dominating presence for fear of being dominated but stalled her frightful response. She did not have to fight his power, but his mind, and Hermione Granger couldn't stop the sudden surge of excitement that ran through her. She craved a challenge and the battle between their wills would be more dangerous and more exhilarating than anything she had ever faced before. Steeling herself she allowed her hazel gaze to travel upward over the incredible height of Lord Voldemort.

His narrowed crimson gaze beat into her doe stare with such glorious intensity that her body shook with his triumph. But, only those bloody feline eyes showed his satisfaction. A mask of indifference was carved into his chiseled jaw line and high cheek bones. His thin faded ash lips were set permanently in an unmoving line, and just above the thin lips were the slit nostrils. The small apertures flared gently as he took in air to accommodate his closed mouth. Curling luxuriously up from his half-lidded eye lids were silvery transparent lashes. The curved bone that would normally be lined with short fine hair on a regular person was vacant of eyebrows. His unique ivory skin gleamed healthily in the forests glow. His form terrified and entrapped Hermione's soul.

He shifted into a crouch and it startled her how graceful he moved. His body didn't shift like a cobra, mamba, or any type of snake; he moved like a jungle cat stalking prey, elegant and commanding with each shift of his hidden frame. The draping black cloak lying across his body spread halo like around him and settled around her huddled form into a makeshift cave opening. Powerful muscles rippled noticeably in his lean neck.

Her thick gulp was just noticeable and racking red followed the slow moving lump down her tanned slender neck to where it vanished under her clavicles. Moments later a cold long slender digit pressed softly into the hollow dip in her throat. Her quickening pulse thumped loudly under the icy contact and increased as he traced upward with slow delicacy, leaving icy trails in its wake. During his meticulous tracing, crimson eyes never strayed from the appendage's progress up to her jaw and over the curve to the base of her ear. He paused there to cup her creamy face in his large palm. The carved lines in his potion calloused hand pressed indentions into her creamy skin as he lifted her face up and lowered those ashy lips to her ear. His hot breath wafted across the shell and sent shivers racing up and down her spine, spreading gooseflesh across her body. The scent of ancient tombs and storm rains washed through her senses like a cave spring over eroding rock.

He was filling her every sense with his presence making her eyes widen and her body shake with fear and anticipation, "What a delicious trophy to have won."

The moist barely audible whisper tickled over her ear and neck and she gripped the earth tighter. Fear was swamping her as his presence continued to dominate everything around her. A distinct smell of dew fluttered over her nose and if not for her fear and the spinning sensation pressing her body through a small space she would have quirked an eyebrow. The Disapparation made her feel queasy but she forced it back. Her face was still upturned with Voldemort's palm holding her firm. Her hands and legs were now buried deep within the aftermath of the battle.

His ruby eyes darkened as he drew himself up and her along with him. She winced at having to put weight on her aching leg so she focused on the way the gory liquid coating her arms and legs slid off of his cloak like water off a ducks back. Wicked intent swam in his mesmerizing glare as she was spun around to face the massacre. Bodies were strewn across the grounds before the half demolished and burning castle. Death Eaters were weaving in and out of the corpses kicking them and ensuring their deaths with quick green burst of their wands. Only the occasional living corpse was jerked up and drug off to a small group of bleeding individuals near the forests edge. Tears burned at the corner of her eyes and she let them fall silently.

The rancid smell luckily could not penetrate the aurora wrapping around Voldemort and her. Even scents avoided his powerful presence. The flashing of the flames engulfing her old school reflected in her golden hazel gaze, and her thoughts drifted to her description of Troy. She half expected there to be a Trojan Horse positioned at the large gaping hole in the castle where the giant double doors had been. Taking in shaky breathes she realized that it was to dark to be the actual Fall of Troy. The reality of the situation was far to wicked than the purpose of Troy's destruction. There was no Paris or Agamemnon to take her away. There was only him and his Death Eaters.

She felt his taller masculine frame press into her back as he wrapped an arm tightly around her waist and manacled a hand around her neck loosely. Once again his lips were pressed to the shell of her ear, but instead of speaking he ran a long tongue along the outer curve tasting her skin tentatively. She flexed to get away but a warning growl froze her in place. The man standing behind her relished his control.

Paralysis set in as the winding arm around her waist waved across their vision with a long ivory wand held firmly in his grip. The arm returned to her waist and she watched as the castle began to rebuild itself. Dark magic etched into the masonry of the fallen stone that dripped with the warrior's blood and the earth's mud. His long fingers began to massage the tight muscles lining her delicate neck as the building came together and the flames extinguished. She could feel the glare of a particular Death Eater but Hermione was far to distracted to care.

She felt him straighten behind her and announce to one of the Death Eater's with him, "you know what is to be done," the servant vanished with a pop and once again she felt the pull of Apparating. They were now standing in a magnificent bedroom suit. He spun her forward after whispering a spell beneath his breath and flung his cloak off, which landed neatly on one of the chairs behind him. Before she hit the bed he caught her hand and pulled her flush against him where he proceeded to hold her hip with the other. They stood in the center of the room in a waltz position, his eyes piercing through her. His body was very male and she became aware of what was going to transpire on the night of his victory. The fear in her gut multiplied but she would not give him that pleasure. Fighting the overwhelming sensations of being alone with the Dark Lord, Hermione glanced down at her clothes. No longer did they have the dripping mush of blood and mud, but neither was she still wearing the same clothes. A long black sheet was wrapped around her body revealing her right shoulder and curve of her breast. A silver braided cord was tied around her middle to hold the toga on.

Her body was suddenly tugged tighter into his encompassing embrace, a low animalistic rumble vibrated in his chest. Feeling trapped she looked up into his hungry gaze and she knew there was no escape from this alpha male. He got what he wanted and his sights were set on her, a muggleborn, "welcome to your Dark Troy, my delicious Helen," his lips crashed down onto hers in a bruising dominating kiss as he slid the fresh garment from her body.


	2. To the Victor Goes the Spoils

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He takes what is his, and makes sure she knows it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is definitely a more mature chapter so please proceed with caution. For not only adult eyes, but also for mature ones as well. This is a big part of the story line and not mindless-smut, but I am hoping it is much appreciated smut none-the-less. Enjoy.
> 
> BookishBrains

The press of his lips to her own caught her off guard and she gasped. His tongue swift and warm took the opportunity to thrust into her mouth and explore every inch of her teeth and tongue. Long flicks and fast swirls dominated her small mouth while strong arms bound her to his body. Hermione Granger was in foreign territory. She had kissed a boy. She had experienced the rough groping of teenage hormones, but never has she been here. Never has her mouth been so thoroughly mapped and intruded. Never has she been alone with a lust filled man intent on her. Not a boy but a man. A man bent on power, his pleasure of his victory, and the domination of her virgin body. Complete submission of her mind. A new fear threatened to thread into her mind and settle in her stomach, but she had to ignore it. Her mind had to be in full operation and this was a challenge; exactly as the Order had trained her.

But, the Order had begged her to relinquish her purity. Her virginity. To make love to someone who was at least a friend rather than having it stripped from her by battle or victory. She had refused every volunteer; frustrating many and angering others. She knew it was a rare opportunity to relinquish something that was only a problem in battle. Rape was far more painful with inexperience and many powerful and Dark rituals required a virgin. But, she couldn't do it. She had been angry at their pleas. She would lose her virginity with no regrets, and tonight there were no regrets. If she could not find love then she would lose it for a cause.

He withdrew from her and chuckled, "why so tense, my dear."

His voice was silk to her ears and a seduction of fire across her skin. Trails of heat ran up to her cheeks as his long fingers began to tease her breasts. She found it hard to reply to his mocking question, but she wasn't ashamed of what she chose, "I…I've…never."

He threw his head back in a booming laugh that frightened her even more. It lasted for just a moment before he was looking back into her innocent hazel orbs, "Severus has informed me of your, as he said 'infuriating refusal to bed any of the men in the order' but he said it with far more rage and rejection," cool hands smoothed across her back and down to her still clothed backside, "you're a smart witch, so why would you refuse such an offer, hmm?"

She skittishly jumped closer into him as his hands needed the toned muscles lining her buttocks and thighs. A rumble of pleasure shook his tall frame, "I couldn't just bed anyone," her lips brushed against the rough material of his robes as she stared hard at his slow rising and receding chest.

"Interesting," those skilled hands traveled upward till thin fingers grasped the braided rope around her body. She sucked in a deep breath as his lips came to her ear, "you say that but you are about to do just the opposite," with a light tug of both hands the bow slid apart and let the rest of her cover pool around her feet. A hiss escaped his lips as he drew back to take her in.

Embarrassment flooded her body. Heat coated her skin in a pink flush. The black material swallowing up her bare feet was cool and suddenly extremely interesting. She was naked. Completely exposed to the Dark Lord's eyes and he hissed. She knew that bookworm's didn't have fantastic bodies or pretty faces but he could have at least faked it. Uncontrollably, she went to wrap her arms around her waist but strong male hands stalled their progress.

"Do not hide from me," Hermione could hear the carnal snarl deep in his throat. It permeated his speak with an animalistic anger.

She blushed deeper as she looked up into his hungry narrowed gazed and was startled. She expected to find disgust or some form of distaste swimming inside of his gaze, "you would still crave my body after seeing it?"

The skin above his left eye rose in an expression of confusion. He studied her closely before it finally hit him, "you really are that naïve, that innocent," he pulled her closer to himself and rested large long fingered hands on her hips, that simple action decided his plan of attack, "you are so immersed in your studies and books you do not realize that males gape at you with lust. Hungry lust for that curvaceous body of yours," his fingers ran up her side making her shiver and he grinned at her reaction, "each member who offered themselves to you wanted to feel you tight around him, crying out there name," his left hand cupped her breast and began to massage it gently, she gasped, "many of my Death Eaters have expressed their desire for your body nightly."

He chuckled at her blushing cheeks and slowly heating gaze, "m-my body? Why?"

He should have been furious at her simple questions but she was truly confused. She wasn't trying to stall what was to take place, the inevitable. The young lioness was genuinely curious. Shaking his head he bent to taste the smooth flesh of her long neck reveling in her shudder of pleasure, "Because they are male, men, and beautiful woman with equally beautiful bodies set their loins on fire. They ache to force themselves into you and thrust until they are crying out with their own pleasure," her body became hot with each word and skilled stroke of his teasing hands, "I crave to spill my seed within you and watch as you writhe with your own pleasure underneath me," he nipped gently at her skin sending a small breath of air from her lips, a sigh, "No rape, just domination of that magnificent body of yours. A domination that you must complete with your submission"

With that his actions increased in earnest and the room began to spin. Floating candles cut through the room like fast moving fireflies. Each put in strategically placed areas. Their red flames licking hungrily at the air like his fingers on her skin. She closed her eyes and felt his lips pressed to her flesh. Romance coated the atmosphere heavily and she cursed his brilliance while she admired it. He had prepared everything for her submission. The smell of incense helped her body into a lusty state and heat swam inside of her stomach making her ache deeply. She needed to be filled. To wash away this aching desire that dripped juice down her inner thighs.

A loud intake of air near her stomach startled her and she looked down to find the Dark Lord. His outer robe removed to reveal his long torso and shifting muscles, "I can smell your arousal, Hermione. I can feel the craving in each part of your feminine body," his powerful hands forced her knees toward himself and she fell backward onto the bed. He was between them, "you smell of the crisp pages of a new book. A nice combination of something forbidden and wild," a long tongue traced the warm liquid back up to her warmth, "I have always desired the forbidden."

That tongue slipped between her folds and swirled around her sensitive pearl. She cried out startled and pulled away, dragging herself across the bed. Her body shaking with the intense feel of her lust and need of him but fear still claimed her. She tried desperately to remind herself what she had to do, but this was terrifying. Would he be rough? Would he mark her skin and take pleasure in her blood? He was a sadist! Hermione knew what she had to do but that didn't mean it was easy. Shaking she watched his wicked tongue draw back into his mouth with a groan of satisfaction. His eyes closed and head thrown back in bliss, "oh, and you taste so much better."

His crimson gaze slowly returned to her retreated form, a powerful lust swimming in their glowing depths. Below his flaring nostrils was an alpha smile. Hermione's heart rate quickened upon seeing perfect white teeth flashing at her. The incisors on each side slightly larger than a normal person's, and she pictured a hungry wolf. She could feel the loud thrumming of her pulse as he rose and moved slowly around the bed toward her. He was no longer a wolf but a jungle cat stalking his prey, slow and merciless. Every shift of his ivory flesh rippled powerfully with the muscles beneath. The smooth plane of his chest textured with arousal and she tried desperately to avoid looking at the erection beneath his dark breeches. The bulge was just noticeable underneath well formed abs and thin waist. She whimpered as he crawled across the cotton bed and grasped her ankle. His long fingers circled the area easily and with a single tug she was sprawled beneath him.

She defensively pressed her palms to his cool flesh and felt another rush of heat flood her nether regions. Her nipples were tight peaks of desire and she whimpered once more at the agony of it all, "I..I don't..."

He silenced her with a swift kiss that she only had moments to reply to before he had pulled away, "Do not worry," he whispered gently against her check as one of his hands grasped her wrist and slowly drew it downward, "follow my lead."

Her eyes bulged as her hand was placed against the hard length of his manhood. Somehow he had removed the rest of his clothing while lying above her. He was long and smooth. A diameter that she knew was larger than most. She shuddered with the thought of him fitting within her, "will you fit?"

She blushed deeply with her question, but she was so curious about all of this. The bookworm inside of her wanted to know everything about the subject and she allowed it full reign. This was one of their battlefields and she needed to take in as much as possible. His milky chuckle made her blush deepen and her nipples to darken into hard peaks, "your whole body colors when you blush," a moist tongue traced the hard curves of her clavicles making her moan softly in pleasure, "you arch perfectly when I stroke you," strong hands ran over her body slowly. Exploring every curve of her petite frame as if she were a book filled with unknown knowledge.

His hands were driving her crazy and the thirst swimming in his eyes frightened her. She was still worried about her first question that he completely pushed aside, "V-Voldemort…."

"Such an anomaly," she gripped the sheets beneath her as his lips joined tracing fingers and palms, "every plan was foiled by you in the beginning," hot breath helped to moisten her dampening skin, "I was kept in the Dark because you stood beside that boy," he nipped at her breast in a mock punishment but continued his maddening attention, "but I can't find the rage to torture you," hands slipped beneath her curving backside before sliding down the backs of her creamy thighs, "I want to dominate you. An alpha male claiming his female," his mouth traced down her legs to her ankles, "forcing her stationary with one tight clamp of his jaws," his tongue swirled around her ankle twice before he made his way back up her body to her lips, "as she accepts the throbbing length of her master."

Her head had been thrown back in ecstasy as he moved over her young body. She could feel his warm breath ghosting over her full and slightly bruised lips. The man was excellent at everything he did, and his description left her speechlessly terrified, petrified. His lips brushed hers as he spoke, "you'll scream that name when it is done."

He brushed feather kisses across her mouth seductively as he gently unclenched her tight grip on the sheets and laced their fingers before pressing them tightly to the pillow above their heads. He leaned heavily on his left elbow as he pressed a knee between her legs, separating them and placing himself between. She released the sheets with her right hand and gripped his flexed bicep tightly; his throbbing head was pressed to her entrance. She was shaking as she looked up at the flaming red eyes burning into her; waiting curiously. Her body ached with a strange need. In a matter of moments a large abyss had been carved out of her insides and she desperately wanted it filled; needed it filled, "please."

His eyes flared with unimaginable desire and a loud growl rumbled within his chest, "Please what?"

Her eyes caught fired with his words. She pulled herself up to his ear and with her words started the second war for the Wizarding world. A war that would be filled with lust and passion, rage and hate, pain and death, curiosity and one emotion none would have ever expected, "You're the master, figure it out."

Growling he thrust into her, slamming his body against hers with a slap of flesh. Hermione threw her head back with a cry of pain as he speared past her barrier. White hot pain coursed through her abdomen causing her to arch against his cool flesh, wanting it soothed. Her small hand gripped his tightly and her nails dug into the flesh of his tensed muscle. Teeth were clamped hard on her lower lip as she whimpered.

"So tight, ohh, you're so tight," his ghosted words brushed across her ear as he shifted atop her. She gripped him tighter and groaned as another burst of pain cut through her, "relax Hermione," he moaned with pleasure, "for my sake relax or I'll come within you now!"

She was startled by the powerful arousal coating his voice. She wanted to gain control so she gripped him tighter with a small grin. Her grin was exchanged with another cry as he drew out and drove back in. She was forced to loosen her muscles around him to avoid the agony, "you vixen!" He nipped at her neck but his voice wasn't angry; it was pleased, "my advice was as much for you as me."

She opened her clenched eyes slowly as he settled against her. He was watching her amused. The intense gaze made her squirm but she froze when another lighter pain ran down her thighs, "the girls never described it as painful," her voice was a soft whisper. She was trying to avoid causing her body more pain.

Grinning more wickedly he bent and kissed her far too gently for a Dark Lord; swirling his tongue around her's trying to coax a reply. Carefully she flicked her tongue against his and responded to the kiss with passion. His hands massaged her aching nipples and a new flood of her fluids coursed down to his tight balls. A loud groan vibrated her soft lips and he pulled away, "do girls discuss everything?"

She gasped softly as he drew out and slid back in. The pain was slowly vanishing into a strange pleasure, "y..yes."

He shifted ever so often to allow her to adjust, "did you ask?"

She gasped and tried to find his rhythm, "no."

"Mmm," his pumping was increasing in speed and his mind slipped elsewhere, "wrap your legs around me."

She complied and discovered it gave him better access to her core. Her back arched off of the cool sheets; pressing her body flush against his, "Ooo!"

He growled, "Magnificent!" his thrusts jarred her body with amazing pleasure and she drew him closer to her sensitive flesh.

"Harder," both were startled to hear her lust filled voice filling the room, but he complied with extreme satisfaction.

"My pleasure," he bent their arms over her head and rose up on his left hand sheathing himself to the hilt rapidly and repeatedly.

It felt magical to have him inside of her; he fit perfectly, and the large abyss was slowly filling within her; however, she needed something more. Something was dancing around the precipice of their twined bodies and she desperately needed it; craved it! She reached up and drew his lips to hers hungrily. He released her hand and wrapped a strong arm around her waist, holding her to him tightly. Tongues fought for domination as she met his thrust with her own uneven ones, but he gently corrected her sloppiness with a shift of his arm. She broke the kiss and buried her face into the crook of his neck, "I need something," she gripped him tighter, "I so desperately need it!"

He threw his head back and laughed before grasping her backside tightly and lifting her into the air. His knees firmly planted on the comforter and sheets as he impaled her on his hard length. She cried out in exquisite bliss as he held her firm and stationary against his powerful frame. Every thrust dominated her small frame as she helpless clung to his towering body. Her legs wrapped tightly around him as pulses of victory rolled off of his body demanding her submission. The sweat glistening ivory skin a perfect moonlit contrast to her oiled sunlit golden flesh; ice to her fire.

He looked down at her hazel gaze which was upturned to him with a silent plea. He watched her closely as he spoke. His voice thick with her own silent need, "say it."

She gasped as their bodies continued to collide noisily but she made no other sound. Her mind knew it was the way to begin the battle of the war, but if she said his name something would happen. He would claim her exactly as he had described it. She would be his completely. Her heart begged her to find another way; to deny him the pleasure that she desired in return.

"Say it!" His voice was a growl against her flesh but she continued to stay silent. Her grunts of unfinished pleasure the only voice of what was actually happening. He gripped her tighter to him and slammed harder, driving in at a different angle to hit her sweat spot. She whimpered with the new pleasure that kept her on an agonizing cliff as firmly as he held her to his body. 

"Please!" She begged desperately, frightened of where this had gone.

"Submit to your master and say it!" It was a jungle cat's roar and a wolf's howl. Without warning he clamped his teeth firmly onto her shoulder and increased his speed, sending eruptions of unearthly pleasure into her.

It was over for Hermione; her mind shut down and something more primal took over. She threw her head back as he thrust one final time and screamed into the fast darkening room, "Voldemort!"


	3. My Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sick, shattered, sound, and silver.

She felt his hot seed spilling into her body as she clenched tightly around him. Her back arched and head thrown back with the extreme, unfamiliar pleasure that wracked her petite frame. The thin fingers of her smaller hands clamped tightly on his masculine shoulders, anchoring her to the world that she was soaring out of. His larger palms supporting her above the sheets of the bed; short gasps of air erupting from her parted lips with the slow thrust of his hips. Every precise stroke sent eruptions of volcanic heat through her cervix and into her uterus wall.

Her high slowed. Voldemort's gentle grip tightened around her curving backside; his body shuddering as a loud roar ripped from his throat and a pulse of Dark power seeped out from his sperm. The invisible force lazily filled every inch of her trembling body like a sluggish poison crawling through her veins and clinging magnetically to every cell. Coursing flames licked at her insides hungrily and she struggled against the strong male hands holding her firm. The metaphorical atmosphere ignited around her and scorched her spiraling, plummeting mind, body, and soul, driving her mad with strange emotions. A mixture of hate, pain, rage, defiance, and ambition swirled inside trying to suppress her compassion, love, pride, and loyalty. He was everywhere inside of her, dominating her very core mercilessly. Darkness was creeping up on her, drowning out the light radiating inside of her innocence. It made her sick. Nausea slammed into her stomach, twisting her intestines angrily as cold sweat broke out across her skin. The color drained from her body and she buried her face against his shoulder, clamping down on his muscled neck. His tangy salt taste seemed to momentarily soothe her gag. Desperately she clung to him as his power drug through her frame hungrily with slow unrelenting progress.

Thankfully, the sudden sickness allowed her mind to clear slightly and she took the opportunity to focus her thoughts on the inward struggle of her body and his magic. The speed at which the blackness was engulfing her caused a stronger wave of nausea but Hermione managed to force it back. Voldemort was performing a dangerously Dark ritual with the objective of commanding her every move, every thought. If he succeeded he would know why she had given herself to him, why they were going with the flow of things rather than fighting like lions in a cage. Hermione's skin felt clammy and thick, suffocating her mind and sitting awkwardly around her muscles. But she had to focus; she had to force the discomfort down and push through the black abyss of his magic swamping her being. The mass was trying to shape her how he desired, but his goal he hadn't reached yet. For the ritual to be perfect her heart, mind and soul must be completely submerged. The source of her own magic needed to be overrun by his; therefore, she still had time for her little alteration.

Gritting her teeth, and crushing her eyes shut she brought to the surface of her mind hazy images of devoured text, lines of random books of Dark magic that the Order had supplied her with. This time the nausea came with a vengeance and a surge of weakness wracked her limbs but she whimpered on. Tightening her small body around his deadly frame she searched the black wall of magic desperately, and there it was. Hidden amongst the misty mental image of his magic she had conjured in her mind's eye was a small, pin head opening. The window was far smaller than she had hoped and fear threatened to take over, but it was there and that's all she needed. Without a second thought Hermione Granger forced her pure magic through the thin film of pulsing glass weakly protecting the aperture. A smile at how he underestimated her spread across his cool neck and the protective web of magic shattered into thousands of tiny pieces as the silvery magic she fueled rushed past and into his body, clinging to him in the same manner his did hers, but smaller and considerably faster.

The timing was perfect and thankfully her difference in goal allowed her small wisp to cover his body like a think sparkling skeleton. Their magic reached each others source at the exact same time. A powerful pulse erupted from Hermione and a smaller wave coursed off of Voldemort. The small throbbing in her head announced the finished altered bond as her body fell limp against him. Her eyes fluttering open and closed tiredly.

A startling rumble in his chest shook her body and she couldn't hold back the weak whimper as he wrapped her tighter to his pale flesh, the rumble increasing in fever and that's when she realized that he was laughing, but the shaking was making her sicker. She whimpered in protest, "shhh, little one, it seems you have stalled my complete domination of your soul."

He drew her back but her body was rather limp and he had to strengthen his hold on her now colorless form. Cocking his head to the side in amusement he laid her slowly onto the cotton sheets beneath them, never breaking their connected hips. Carefully he brushed a strand of sweat dampened brown hair from her forehead and hovered above her small frame. He dwarfed her easily, but he was too distracted to notice the advantage. His amusement faded to a worried confusion upon seeing her pale lips quivering. Her gentle hazel eyes were drifting in and out of consciousness and her body shook with nonexistent cold.

He examined her carefully as their magic slowly drew back into their own beings, leaving only a filmy covering over the other's mind and heart. Only Hermione's magic swam inside of his shattered soul, but he didn't care because her mind and heart now contained a very large amount of his Dark magic. But, the odd thing that caught his interest was how slow her magic was moving from his body. It even seemed to stop on occasion.

He watched as she groaned in her strange conscious state and caressed her clammy cheek before demanding his magic fully into his body. The effect was immediate. A tan coloring seeped back into her flesh but she was still paler than her usual golden glow. A cool sweat dotted her forehead and her now open eyes were half lidded and weak, "you have a fever."

She heard the soft confusion in his voice and a cool hand touched her forehead, sighing she leaned into it. Honestly she felt much better now that his Dark magic was back where it belong and his auror had calmed down, "Dark magic…has," she paused as a powerful shudder coursed through her heated flesh and her own magic returned, "that effect on me."

"Odd," he rolled them onto his back before drawing a thick blanket around them, "I have never seen such a reaction, at least in a sane person," he ignored her verbal protests that she was hot and continued to tuck the comforter tightly around her, "even though I am thoroughly furious that you spoiled my full plans to have you at my beck and call, I'm very satisfied," her trimmers were slowing and her eyes were hauntingly curious, "I'm positive it would have been thoroughly boring to have you so," he gave her a wicked grin, "submissive."

She grunted angrily making him chuckled before continuing, "I was half expecting something like this," suddenly his voice darkened, "and I have another use for you," his hands slid beneath the coverlet to trace her curves hungrily, "besides the obvious."

She moaned and buried her head into his chest as he stirred within her, "impossible," her voice was so weak, "you could…eek!"

He was suddenly in a sitting position. Hermione straddling his lap and slumped against him useless, "go another round," the dark chuckle filled the room, "it has been a while since a woman has been worthy to share my bed, but never have they been a Mudblood or Gryffindor, let alone both," he chuckled deeply again, "You are quiet delicious and very enjoyable, my dear. Hold onto me and I'll do the rest."

She quickly did as she was told once his hips began to buck up into her. She had to agree. The man was amazing not matter what he looked like, but she was so exhausted. Her grip loosened as she moaned softly against his flesh; however, he supported her. This time his magic crept into her trying to please; the dark tendrils wrapped around her pure magic but it only increased her uncomfortable illness, "I feel so sick."

He had been examining her more than paying attention to his movements and once again he was intrigued. Withdrawing his magic he finished with one last thrust before lying back and holding her tightly, riding out his second orgasm with slow thrust once again, "I was hoping to bring you as well," he examined her motionless body, "how bad does it affect you?"

She tried to bring her hand up to her mouth but it was no use. Her body refused to be held back this time. Luckily, he sensed her sudden panic and the cause, and with unimaginable speed she was being deposited onto the cool tile of the bathroom. The sharp pain coursing up her injured knee at the contact was completely forgotten as everything in her stomach decided to come up. Quickly she grabbed the edge of the toilet and vomited. Her insides felt raw as her body continually convulsed until she was dry heaving painfully. She could feel Voldemort's worried confusion surrounding her mind along with a strong distant anger. She could feel him trying to soothe her from the inside but it only increased her heaving so he withdrew.

Finally her retching stopped, leaving her teary eyed and aching. Suddenly an ivory hand held a crimson potion bottle out toward her, but Hermione pushed it away and shook her head. She felt the first wave of full rage since being in his presences and held up a shaking finger to stall him for just a moment. He acquiesced to her demand giving her the time to overcome the pain in her throat, "it..doesn't," she winced, "help."

His anger subsided to more confusion and she sighed before falling back. A solid wall of muscle and flesh stalled her progress and another bottle was held in front of her face, "this will take care of your throat and clean your mouth," he waited for her to drain it before picking her up and walking back to the bed, "why does that happen? And how long does it last?"  
He was frustrated at not knowing the answers, "Albus once told me I am very susceptible to Dark magic before he died. I didn't really know what he meant until I was fully inducted into the Order," she paused as he laid them on the bed, turning her around to face him. He nodded his head for her to continue.

She stared into his crimson gaze warily knowing she had to tell him everything for this to work, "um, I was the researcher for the Order," he listened intently even though the information was now useless; "eventually they had me working on Dark tombs and artifacts. That's when it started," she felt better and was able to relax as best she could in the very naked Dark Lord's presence, "Remus and I were working on a specific artifact," his crimson gaze narrowed and he pulled her closer her nose brushing against the slits in his face.

"One of my Horcruxes?" His voice had dropped too many octaves and the icy tone bit at her skin. A very dangerous feeling in her mind made her shiver.

She shook her head nervously. Their bodies were pressed flush together, "no it was a Dwarven artifact," she paused uncomfortably this time before shaking it off, "as I'm positive you know, Dwarves are far from the friendliest creatures and that's why they are either in hiding or completely extinct. The artifact we had was too Dark," a frown creased her forehead, "Remus and the Order didn't believe me when I told them the thing was making me sick. They figured it was just the thought of being around Dark Magic, so they gave uplifting words of encouragement," she sighed, "Remus and I continued the research."

She drew even closer to his lean frame as the memories rolled in, a satisfied rumble emitted from his chest, "Three days later I was colorless and exhausted from being unable to consume anything without it coming back up, like I am now," fear swamped her mind as she place her hands on his shoulders, her voice a whisper, "Remus had to help Kingsley with strategies that day, so I went to the library alone. I don't remember what happened but it was hours before they found me lying on the floor with the artifact clenched tightly in my right hand," she showed him the dark bruised points in her hand before continuing, "they were able to get it out of my hand and far away from me, and when I woke Arthur told me that I looked dead lying so still on the library floor. He said my heart was slowly stopping and my skin was ice cold."

His eyes scanned her hazel orbs curiously, "Interesting, what was the artifact?"

She shrugged, "we never found out," he growled low against her cheek, "it disappeared a couple days after my reaction, just vanished."

She felt the sharp discomfort of his prodding in her mind and he growled again in frustration as she presented him with the memories he wanted, "you're telling the truth," she was too tired to put up a fight tonight so she conserved her energy, "I have a similar artifact to what you described," he rolled onto his back placing her upper body a top of his and Hermione looked up to him nervously, "you'll be helping me research it."

"What!?" She couldn't control the frustration pooling off of her in waves, "you saw in my mind what happened to me!"

His cold gaze returned to her, "Another reason to make you research it. I want to know why your body reacts like this," she went to get away from him but a vice grip held her firm, so she fought him harder, "be still!"

She refused to listen and kneed him in the thigh. Momentarily he lost grip and she lunged for the edge of the bed, but just as she did a powerful wave of weakness caught her body and she tumbled to the stone floor. His magic pulsing angrily inside of her as she moaned on the floor. She heard the faint rustle of sheets and then felt him kneel beside her, "how very convenient for me that you have such a rare condition," he withdrew the magic.

The pain in her shoulder made her want to whimper but she ignored it, "you have no clue how it makes me feel!"

Grabbing her he tossed her onto the bed roughly before stretching out on top of her, using his body weight to cage her. His crimson eyes burning dangerously down at her before he nipped sharply at her neck making her gasp and stop moving, 'correct, I don't; therefore, I need something else rather than my own magic to cause the reaction," he shifted his weight and forced her legs open with his knees making her gasp and push against his chest, "plus I require your services, my dear, that means you'll give them," he nipped at her ear, "your body craves mine. It always has, Hermione, why would you wait for so long just to give such innocence to a monster," his lips hovered inches above her own, "why would you deny the gentle love making of one of you precious Order. You wanted me before I took you tonight Hermione and now," he pinned her hands above her head by lacing their fingers, "you're no longer with the Order, my innocent," heat gathered between her legs as he positioned himself at her entrance, desire swirling in his lava filled depths "you're mine," and with a feral growl he thrust into her.

She tossed her head back in pleasure and steeled her resolve, knowing his words were meant to cut her and make her doubt herself, "you're right," his pumping faltered and stopped as he looked down into her seductive gaze, "I've craved for someone who could make my body catch flame just as you have and I've waited for that man without a face to take what was his," it was time for her to play the game that her mind and body had been trained to play, "to feel him dominate every inch of my being as you have," she gripped his hands tightly in her own as she smiled up into his serpentine face, "but there is something you will never get that he will always walk away with," his shock turned to fury and she mentally screamed her triumphant as that small sign of curiosity lit up in her mind; his curiosity, "all of me," a snarl was her only answer and she continued, "Lord Voldemort, you have my mind and body but how will you ever get my soul?"

His lips crashed down upon her own. His rage and desire for her sudden challenge sparked to life as she gave into his powerful thrusts and dominating tongue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm slowly updating this to Archive. Been extremely busy and I want to re-read and edit up on my story. Plus I need to find that muse again. Hope you enjoyed!


	4. Your Imagination is my Reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cruel Cruciatus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Readers,
> 
> Keeping it quiet. Getting into some plot in this story. I like to think some readers have yet to read my story from fanfiction and that this is a beautiful new experience. Please feel free to comment, kudos, bookmark, or just read an enjoy.
> 
> BookishBrains

Hermione woke to a sore body that happened to be uncomfortably overly satisfied and satiated. The loose feel of her muscles and sighing tendons making her want to purr in satisfaction and stretch out along the sheets; however, the crisp ravished feel of her petite frame couldn't keep the vicious berating thoughts at bay. Groaning in frustration she buried her head into the soft pillow trying to drown out her logical side that constantly replayed the scenes from the previous night. Cruel memories of her body arching sensuously against smooth pale skin and her mouth moaning for more beat at her defenses, yelling betrayal over and over. Angrily she fought back the biting tears that threatened to spill over. She knew that something similar to this feeling would happen. It was natural to look on the past and compare the present, but the feeling was at a far larger magnitude than what she was ready for. Truth being that last night had been far too enjoyable for the young Gryffindor's taste, and she desperately wanted her body to gag or shudder at remembering his smooth lips pressed to her own. She even went as far as forcing pictures of the serpentine face that owned them to try and aid the reflex, but with those pictures came the ghostly reminder of what those skilled lips had done. How his crimson gaze ignited her body with such powerful need.

Whimpering she demanded her body to stop its stupid betrayal and focus on her plans rather than his large slender hands running across her skin or the aroused flaring of his inhuman nostrils as she clung to his back and nipped his chiseled jaw. The way he moved inside...Screaming out she ripped the pillow from under her head and sent it flying across the room, the soft thud a slight pleasure but she wanted more. Her head shot up when she realize how much more she wanted. She wanted to kill something or someone. The frustrating analysis that her mind had been making was now awash in some kind of strange anger rising up from the back of her mind and it didn't help that her body was having a very intimate reaction to her memories of Voldemort. In fact she was on fire with the reaction but that anger kept growing forcing the young woman into a very confused state that had no desire to be sorted out.

Her brow knit together as cool air stroked her bare back, possible only because of a certain man's absence, but the oddity was the lack of effect the cool feel had. Normally a freshly woken Hermione would curl deep into the covers at the first sign of chill; unfortunately, the sudden powerful inferno coursing over her flesh made this inadvertently impossible. At first she was completely shocked at how aroused she was just by thinking about him but as the heat wave enveloped her mind she realized that it was an emotion burning her skin. Rage had not only obliterated her arousal but was now coursing along her nerve endings with such ferocity that it frightened the lioness to no end. Simple logic told Hermione that she had never in her days on earth been so angry, so enraged in her life, but logic fell limp against the wall of emotion rampaging inside. To believe she was capable of such hate horrified her. Gasping Hermione curled tightly into herself, releasing the sheets in order to bind her arms tightly around her body. The fetal position, a sad childish attempt to stay protected from the emotions that were strangely making her sick and weak, but it was also the only protection Hermione could muster against the red blaze licking at her senses, battling against her other emotions. Feeling the power, the rush inside of her tightened her body closer together in a curl. Her mind screamed at her that something wasn't right, but everything was clouded by the volcanic burn of this emotion ripping through her innocent frame.

Rivers of whimpers escaped her quivering lips until she was sobbing out of control. Loud thunderous rapids beat at her eardrums as the tears gushed from her clenched eyes, their lids twitching uncomfortable with the strength she held them together with. Everything felt so wrong and out of place, so Dark and powerful that the distraught young woman didn't hear the door fly open or slam shut in an expression of the rage inside of her; however, the emotion beating at her for control suddenly dulled. At first it was replaced with a quick disgust that seemed to be connected to the far larger emotion of rage, but out of the blue it evaporated into a weary realization. Thankfully, as if commanded the familiar emotions and their foreign magnitude were dulled to a blunt tip at the back of her mind. Caged away behind some invisible barrier.

Immediately reclaiming all of her mind once again Hermione took a mental check of everything. Everything was in order. Her well placed memories were unphased by the horrid attack and her skills and knowledge were floating carelessly along awaiting her use. Mentally sighing she turned her attention to the rear of her mind where the strange emotions rested. Carefully, Hermione brushed mental fingers across the retreated emotions and found them to be held at bay not by a cage but by an entity inside of her mind. Another presence with excellent and practiced control. With her mind safe she began a slow examination of her half covered curled form. But, before she could get anywhere the large comforter beneath her huddled form sank and long fingers ran up her exposed back to massage her neck carefully. She flinched openly and involuntarily with the sudden contact; lips hovered above her vulnerable ear making her press her fingers deeper into her smooth flesh, "I seemed to have lost my temper."

Hermione's throat was too dry to voice any opinion so she only nodded and involuntarily held herself even tighter. Her body was now doubled completely like a feline ball in a reclining chair. She cursed herself for taking things lightly; she should have been prepared to be assaulted in such a way. But, the young female wasn't expecting such raw, overwhelming emotions to rush at her from his mind. Not in her wildest imaginations would she have thought them that powerful, that dangerous, but she had to agree it suited him very well.

A sigh caressed the shell of her ear as long lethal arms drew her into an outstretched lean masculine form. The invasive emotions hovering at the border of her mind molded together and ran calming phantom fingers over her gentler feelings. Every stroke of the invisible hand soothed the panicked chaos within her until Hermione could rebuild her completely shattered walls back to full strength. Only the strangely welcome entity could pass through them without any hindrance. She could feel the Dark Magic wafting out from their source. It was that knowledge which brought her further from the mental withdrawal she had forced herself in for protection. Voldemort was the one holding her body, caressing her mind; however, it was also that realization that led her to brushing him swiftly out of her open mind and tightening her walls. For him to be there was far more intimate to Hermione Granger than their previous excursions, plus he was making her sick again. But, not wanting to feel such rage beat against her walls again Hermione drew his arms closer to her abdomen.

Thankfully he pulled her closer and stated his understanding in a low tone, "I made you sick again."

For a glimmer of a second her heart twitched strangely within her chest. A slight almost imaginary jerk of the constantly working muscles but it was gone far to fast for her to cling to. Hermione wanted to jump head first after the odd occurrence and break it down quickly for her understanding; unfortunately, far larger matters were at hand, like answering a Dark Lord who almost gave you a mental breakdown with his emotions, it was probably a random, useless twitch of her beating organ anyway, "I can handle what you were doing because you held back your magic, but that…that emotion before was coated in it," she shivered involuntarily and brought him closer unconsciously, needing to feel the warmth of his body rather than the fire of his rage, "that's why," she paused and felt suddenly angry at herself, furiously she released his arm, "why I'm utterly useless right now!"

At first he was slightly shocked to feel her anger but then he registered just how correct her words were. Hermione was in fact completely immobile except for a few uses of her lips and arms. Mentally chuckling he drew her to him to increase the helplessness she was feeling before grabbing onto her gentler anger bubbling up in the back of his mind. Deliberately he compared it to his own; the girl's emotion was a dust particle to his Mount Everest. Raising his brow he mentally cursed his loss of control, of course, he had perfect reason for being so furious. As a matter of fact one of the reasons happened to be curled up against his torso; at least a very small part happened to be. True, he was only mad at her for defending herself against his rage but that didn't really matter anymore. He could analyze and take care of that later. No, Hermione had been asleep for the majority of the morning, giving her no time to make him angry, in fact, the full force of his fury happened to be in the Great Hall crumpled in a heap on the stone floor, or was it a table? One of Rodolphus's and Bellatrix's pathetic and childish arguments had lead to his uncontrolled rage. The two Death Eaters were constantly at one another's throats before the final battle and apparently the blood shed didn't satisfy all of their bloodlust.

Ignoring his frustrated female Voldemort went over what had happened with a clearer mind. Hermione had been trying to make herself feel disgust for what she had done with him last night three times over; however, it only ended, to his great satisfaction, in her failing miserably and instead becoming distressed and fully aroused. Not only could she not be angry at herself for being bedded by him but she desperately needed a release, which he had every intention of taking care of on his return; however, before his wicked thoughts of taking his lioness against one of the four posters or bent over the side of the dew soaked walls lining the bath could finish, Bellatrix and Rodolphus had erupted in a fit of yelling and cursing, both spells and other. Sadly, during his examination of the war survivor's, this only made him look bad. Normally, Lord Voldemort, would have completely ignored the two but a badly cast Crucio had been directed at his back and the powerful wizard had reached his last nerve with the Lestrange pair. Bellatrix was a magnificent addition to his rule, but so was her wickedly devious husband, so his mind was set. The curse was coming quickly toward his back, caster completely unaware of the dangerous target, and of course he felt the curse and knew where and when it would hit. This knowledge gave him the opportunity to move; unfortunately, he slowly spun on his heels to face the curse dead on. As the Unforgivable made contact with his cloaked chest his gaze met the clouded furious stare of the caster's. He was finished with their bickering.

A gasp erupted from every mouth within the enclosed room except his and the focused caster, who seemed to be enjoying the feel of the spell far too much to notice anything else. His thin lips were pressed into a livid line as the full razor pain of the curse ripped through him mercilessly. Each bite, each twisted pain telling him how much punishment the one before him would succumb too. But, Voldemort had too much control, too much power, to allow any sign of his agony to show on his marble form. Instead he let the unbridled rage burning inside of him loose and burn out through his crimson orbs locked onto none other than Bellatrix Lestrange. The Dark Lord's patience vaporized in the burning fury of his rage and he let it go. Dark pulses enveloped the room, suffocating those who dared breathe it in and sending others into cowering huddles on the stone floor. But only one had the right to fear the wrath and it took Bellatrix's fear far to long to take over and kill the curse oozing through her lord's body. But, it was too late. Death had already become her sentence and it glittered within the crimson depths. The utter horror within his Death Eater's eyes fed the monster released; its head thrown back in a primal roar, physically rumbling within his chest as a growl. Seconds passed and the world slowed as an ivory hand swung upward, a green light erupting from the thin wand held tightly in its grasp.

Bellatrix's body flew into the far wall before her corpse crumpled in a heap on the floor. Voldemort's deadly gaze was on Rodolphus's shaking form before the sickening thud sounded inside the Great Hall, "Argument settled."

Silence was left in his wake as their Lord and Master spun out of the room in a flurry of black robes. For the moment, his anger had been diverted during his cruel mediation of the argument and now it settled on the panicking and terrified emotions wrapping around his clouded senses; Hermione. At first sight of her he was utterly disgusted. She was curled in on herself and shaking, weak and pathetic. Her tremors shook through the bed he had left earlier this morning to attend to matters for the night's event. Suddenly the reality of her situation hit him like a ton of bricks; unfortunately, he did not block the rage or his magic from entering her body; therefore, as it sought to cover every inch of him, it also sought to claim her. 

Snarling angrily to himself he noted that she was able to keep the emotion at bay, barely but still able. Her body had no place for the overpowering and Dark emotion that had tried to rip into her unwilling body, and to him it was just another form of rape. He would have to keep his emotions in far better check than their usual confinement. Sighing he returned to the present and brought his thoughts to the creature curled up against him, she was crafted from different emotions than he was. Her compassion and determination was what kept his powerful rage from consuming her completely, and now she was angry, no, anger couldn't describe her emotion. Chuckling he decided on righteous fury to be a far better name, but now he was tired of all the drama that came with the morning, "no," he whispered into her ear once more, seduction lacing his husky voice, "not completely useless," a tongue traced her outer ear and she moaned at his touch, "I believe, before you were interrupted, you needed a desperate release."

She gripped his arm tightly once again with her arousal suddenly back at the fore of her mind. The rage now just an after thought and Hermione desperately wanted to know how he could just change emotions so quickly. She wanted to do it with the arousal making her body ache for him, "it has to be the bond that allows you to do this to me!"

He could feel the disbelief of her own words and hear the breathy need laced in each syllable, "we weren't bonded when I first took you, claimed you," his lips found the corner of her mouth were he nibbled gentle making his prey bite her lower lip to suppress another moan of pleasure and frustration, "you called my name of your own free will, lioness."

She growled softly before tilting her head to give him access to her lips or her neck and when he chose her neck she continued with her eyes closed tightly in frustration, "yes, I did, kind of," She moaned again as his nails drew circles on her smooth stomach hidden under the coverlet, "but I've never been with another…," his lips covered hers with bruising force, cutting off her sentence, before he carried her off into the bathroom and placed her back on her feet roughly, startling the young woman completely.

His voice had lost all seduction, "we have somewhere to be so clean yourself quickly and return to the bedroom to dress," suddenly he angrily grabbed her hair eliciting a yelp from her swollen lips before he pulled her tightly against him. His eyes glared down into her own, "never think of touching another man!"

With that he spun out of the room and closed the door firmly behind leaving Hermione to stare completely and utterly confused at the polished white oak façade, "um, someone has issues, I didn't even get to finish my sentence," turning to the large tub she ran the water.

Frustrated she glared at the different colored liquids filling the oversized basin. The aroma of lavender and dew made siege of her sensitive nose as she continued to vent, "I mean, I don't want to have sex with him," she growled at her lie, "well not if he's going to act like a dick," that one thankfully wasn't a lie and she smiled in triumph as she slid into the slow rising hot water, "and all of his Death Eater's disgust me," she glared at the soap now lying in her open palm, of course, it didn't do anything to her, the taps suddenly shut off on their own once the water was at an appropriate height, "like he should disgust me."

Another strange twitch at her heart made her growl again but everything vanished when a pale hand took the soap out of her hand, "move."

Shaking with anger she stepped away from the edge and allowed his taller form to slide in behind her. His empty hand grasped her hip beneath the surface and she smacked it away angrily earning herself a loud growl from above her but she didn't acknowledge it. Angrily she reached for another bar of scented soap but was suddenly halted as every inch of her body erupted in a flood of agony. Sharp nails raked over her insides as a forbidden curse tortured her organs; morbidly teasing her insides and promising deep cuts and brutal mutilation. It was quick and over within seconds, a warning, but to Hermione it was far more.

Her breathing had become erratic, uneven and spaced apart in dangerous intervals. She stood erect like a cliff at the water's edge, the hot liquid lapping softly at her smooth skin. Eternity set in around her as she waited for the inevitable to happen. Fear kept her firm and unmoving, her eyes closed as the pain continued to burn her from the inside out. Her wait came to an end when her body suddenly gave.

She was little more than a heap of flesh submerged beneath the now scented water. Lungs locked behind rows of ribs were unable to hold the air she tried to salvage from above. They were too weak and wounded to stay expanded long and yet those same organs continued to cringe with need. The panic for air died before it could even begin. Hermione was fading and fast. A strange black swamped around her mind and eyes like the conflicting water around her, but it was so quiet so peaceful. Strangely she couldn't fight back the encroaching darkness as she had the overpowering emotions earlier. Her chest ached with a strange need that a foggy mind had forgotten. An emotion, her own, pooled up from the far recesses of her mind where the memories of the artifact. The emotions brought on by the prickling in her palm where the metal points melded into her hand still raged, loss. She was dying because her body was unable to function. The abundance of Dark Magic she had been subject to leaving her immobile, useless. Her brain struggled to remember her purpose and a surge of strength broke through her like a tidal wave.

She could not die yet! She had to fight, just fight over and over until there was none left and for Hermione Granger, there would always be something to fight for.

In a last effort, a last resort, she tore down the walls surrounding her mind and allowed all of her emotions to rush out of her in a tidal wave, fear leading the charge. The mind link saved her life. Cool hands wrenched her from beneath the surface into Voldemort's arms, her body convulsing with gasps and coughs. The once immobile lungs worked to draw in as much air as possible and force out the water that had slipped past her lips, "Cane!"

A loud 'pop' and a strong squeaky voice filled the enclosed area, "Master?"

"Inform, Lucius, Snape, and Rodolphus that I'm still furious about the events that have occurred today and wish to see none of them until I have calmed considerably," she was finally able to open her eyes weakly, a wide crimson pair was the only thing she saw, "the auction will take place tomorrow morning along with Rodolphus's punishment, now go!"

With another 'pop' the thing Hermione had come to recognize as a House Elf was gone, "It seems..."

"It was like that thing was in my hands again," her voice shook with raw emotion, "and I couldn't get it out of my hand," her last sentence was but a whisper.

Startled he stared at the shaking figure holding herself tightly, water dribbled from the side of her mouth as she continued to heave painfully, but he ignore the desperation in her voice, to furious at her rebellion, "you're mine, Hermione, learn this now," he sat on the outcropping beneath the water lowering her into the heat to calm her shaking but it only increased, her fingers tightening their hold on his shoulders, "next time it won't be a warning curse that I send you, is that clear!"

His anger was pooling in the back of her mind but she didn't care. His words stung her and frightened her but still she didn't care. The memory of that night had never been so vivid until now and it frightened her. She had struggled with the piece as it's corners dug into her palm, dark tendrils locking onto her bone in agony as the Dark began to consume her, not the magic that vibrated within Voldemort's body but something far deadlier, something possessive, it wanted her, "Hermione!"

Her head snapped up to the furious and very terrifying expression of Lord Voldemort and she remembered his words, but also, she remembered who he was. She remembered her training and found her walls. Silently she regained her control and pushed the old memory behind her chaining it away before glaring back, "that wasn't a warning!"

"Shall I prove to you otherwise?!" He gripped her tightly, his fingers digging into her flesh painfully.

"To you it might have been but after the emotional beating I took from you earlier because you couldn't control you anger," with inhuman speed he slammed her into the wall of the bath painfully making her pause for a second before her eyes returned to his and snarled, "it almost killed me!"

His eyes smoldered, creases in his cheeks gave away the clenched teeth hidden behind them, "you go unconscious if you are exposed to much," he forced her harder into the cool tile face twisted with rage, his nostrils flaring but this time they didn't arouse her, "as long as your nowhere near water or anything that can harm you I'll keep pushing that limit until you get the understanding that you are mine to do as I wish!" his hand slipped to her throat and cut off her retort, "Crucio!"

Her head flew back with a scream slamming into the hard surface behind her. This time the curse lasted only seconds longer than the first but it was enough. The claws that ran over her organs made good on their promise as they sank deep, tearing long gashes into her weak and fragile organs. His roar was loud enough to be heard above the freight train rushing in her ears, "is the point made!"

The pain never stopped inside of her even after he lifted the strong hand from her neck. The pain was a repetitive throb of sharp acute damage. But, slowly, in hopes of not hurting anything else, she lowered her throbbing head to look into his eyes, torment swimming around in their hazel depths. A long line of blood leaked from the corner of her mouth just like the water had done minutes before and increased as she opened her mouth to speak startling the male before her, "you feel that your insides are tearing," her eyes drooped heavily as tears slipped from their corners, "mine do."


	5. The Artifact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione discovers a dark side to Helen's mythical story.

A Dark Troy

Voldemort stood, towering, next to the bed. His lean frame dressed in long black Oxford pants belted at his thin waist. An open white shirt of the same brand loosely held on by his long arms and broad shoulders. The buttoned edges brushing his exposed torso. Crimson eyes were locked on the young woman beneath the ebony sheets, their slow rise and fall giving way to her even breathing, each puff ruffling the pillow's edge. It had taken the tall specter several hours of concentrated magic to bring the sleeping figure back to a stable state of breathing and another hour to heal her gaping organs. The whole scene irritated him. 

He had no intention of pushing her illness himself, rather, he would allow the artifact to do that for him, but she just had to make him angry. Of course, the scholar inside of him was ecstatic about the find, but the possessive male wasn't. He needed Hermione to activate the Dwarven artifact but he also wanted her. Wanted her with such an animalistic urge it bothered him. Admittedly some of his want stemmed from the need to prove her wrong about the challenge she thrust at him last night. He would find a way to claim her soul just as he did her mind and body. She was his. But, he needed the Dwarven magic inside of her. He knew about what happened to her; a magnificent advantage of having a spy. Severus had immediately reported the occurrence before stealing the bloody metal block right out from under their noses.

Now he was feigning ignorance, but so was she. He had been surprised that her body reacted so perfectly to his and vice versa, but to allow it was another thing. Then she revealed why. The little vixen had a card of her own hidden up her sleeve and now they were bonded rather than slave and master. But, seeing as they were bound he could feel the manipulative thoughts dancing around her borders. Ones his little Gryffindor had no right to possess. Some were her own but others he doubted she even knew about, once again sending him back to the source; the artifact. Dwarves were known for their skill in masonry and smithy but also for their ability to imbue an object with such power it could make a chimera cower in fear. One such item was at the touch of his fingertips if he could just use the blasted artifact. He didn't believe the block of metal to be a key but a map; unfortunately, he needed to figure out how to read the map, which lead to the all-out problem. A young witch named Hermione Granger, whom was currently lying in his bed. Taking a different approach with the young witch only proved to be foolish. Though that night was very fruitful in other areas she had proven that he could be just as naive as her. It infuriated him to know she had done such a thing by feigning such fear and innocence. True, she really had no clue what she was doing but he allowed his desire to own her to cloud his judgment of what she could do. He had no qualms about reverting back to his previous plans, truthfully, this would be far more enjoyable and to his tastes. He didn't have to woe the damn female anymore. He would make the first act at the auction today. Proving to her who the master is!

Grinning he reached down and brushed a curly lock of chocolate hair from her cheek before stalking to the stout oak desk set up in the farthest corner. Having Hermione bound to him had its bonuses. When she encounters the lifeless artifact he will know where the magic is stored and just what it is doing to her. He will be able to feel the effects as she does. Also he needs to know how badly everything will affect his person. Of course, he does not have her strange illness, meaning he would not be affected like her but something strange had happened. Not only did he feel her distress but, curiously, his heart had twinged or twitched before before he discovered what had happened to her in the bath. It had felt like overexerted pump like his heart need to take a deep breath all of a sudden. Of course, he had tried to examine the strange occurrence while waiting for her answer but it vanished once he saw the blood coming from her mouth. The whole event had been very interesting. Hermione had brought the illusion of the curse to life. The curse attacks a victim's nerves brutally in an attempt to make them feel as if they are being torn from the inside out. A result of her weakened state, not to mention the Dwarven magic, may have heightened the curses affect literally tearing her insides. If he had continued the curse she would have been irreparable. It is also possible that the curse cast upon him could have affected her as well but his anger had overshadowed it, but he would never know for certain unless he was cursed again. That was not happening anytime soon.

On a brighter note, the bond allows him to persuade his little lioness with his magic. By sending it across her body in waves to sicken her or weaken her, which he knows she despises more than she is willing to admit, gives him a great advantage. Beating a female is more of Bellatrix's taste than his own, he flinched mentally at the stupid Death Eater's outrageous act, but it had to be done and it did prove to his other Death Eater's that anyone can step over the line. Shrugging he spun around at the first sound of shifting cloth. Honey eyes stared back at him weakly, "what happened? I feel weird inside."

He cocked his head to the side at her ignorance, but the clouded gaze vanished a little as she reached out to his mind with her own, brushing his emotions. Not feeling up to explaining yesterday he allowed the memories to flood her from both his and her perspective before securely pushing her out. She had gone slightly pale again causing him even more frustration. He preferred her golden hue to such a pale color. It reminded him of the female Death Eater's, "can you walk?" His tone was icy and he did not restrain the bite in his next sentence, "you have yet to stand meaning I've had to carry you twice and you lay around in bed all day. Did you enjoy sex so much that you didn't dare leave my bed?"

She stayed impassive but he could feel the fury locked away. It mingled oddly with some other emotion she kept hidden very well. To his annoyance she stood on shaky legs, a blue knee giving her the most trouble, but she managed to still them and straighten. Eyes locked with his, "I believe you insisted on carrying me."

He noted she chose to ignore the rest of his insult and smirked. The grin growing as he noticed her wavering control on her eyes. They begged to appraise his revealed chest, "then you didn't want to leave my bed?" 

She flushed a gentle pink; the only satisfaction she allowed him to have, "I was slightly distracted by an overwhelming anger. Might you know who’s that would be?"

Dangerous flashes lit up in the blood pools making her shiver in fear. The scent and sight pooling heat over her body in anticipation that she mentally battered away as he stalked forward from the large desk, "I killed Bellatrix," her shock was gorgeously evident. Etched into each crease around her gaping mouth and wide eyes, "stupid Bella, she cursed me," she was shaking as he drew closer until his lips were pressed to her ear, "not wise to cross me, my innocent, is it?"

The very essence of his being curled around her like their first meeting. She shivered uncontrollably and swallowed the thick lump forming in her throat. The tight binding of magic made her weak. But, no matter how intimidating he was she could not let him get the best of her, "so, you would kill me for stepping out of bounds," she let the sarcasm flow as she made to go around him, "and so soon. I was hoping you'd give my challenge at least a small chance."

He chuckled at her boldness even if it angered him, "No," snatching her upper arm he spun her around, "I won't kill you," a burst of his black magic shot through her body making the young woman groan sickly, "I have other means of making you obey, Hermione."

She gasped and gripped the face of his loose shirt tightly, "uhhh, so not fair."

He threw his head back and laughed before looking back at the distressed female, "doesn't matter if it is fair or not. I tried being nice Hermione but now you've forced me into taking drastic measures. Even though I will have to monitor how far I go, but I'm curious at how far that is."

Panicked hazel eyes shot up toward him, "w-what do you mean, drastic?"

His wicked grin sent shivers of fear down her spine, "you'll find out soon," gripping her tighter he flung her toward the bathing room. She stumbled as her wounded knee gave a little, "clean up and don't take long or I'll have to come get you."

To make sure his point got across another wave of magic struck her solid making her knee give out completely. The impact made her hiss in pain but she chose to ignore the sharp daggers and force her way forward. Once safely, or as close as she could get to safe, behind the door she collapsed, taking in large gulps of air. Now she had a little bit of a problem. Voldemort had a 'punishment' for her this evening. Groaning she turned on the tap. Keeping him waiting would only cause her more grief at the moment. As the water cascaded down from the polished silver pipes she evaluated her position. She believed that if she could bond herself to Voldemort then manipulating him would be far easier; unfortunately, it only gave him a huge advantage over her. Who would have thought that his magic could make her so exhausted and weak?

Hermione was glad he didn't know everything about her illness and when it began, at lease she hoped he did not. If he did not understand this sickness then the better for her. Unlike most of the Order members and this random Aurora, who she never thought important enough to discover his name, she believed that the artifact had left something inside of her. A recess of the magic it held, but no one believed her and the item in question vanished before she could experiment her own theory. The scary part is that Voldemort may have access to that something. She may have helped create the bond but she had yet to get the chance to see how far that goes. Thankfully, the only thing she could one-hundred percent deduce was emotion sharing, but other than that, nothing. Memory sharing seemed possible but she concluded that it had to be a willing action because he had yet to pull any from her. She was praying that Legilimens was impossible to cast because of the bond. They were now connected by the mind and body, of course, Hermione had a slight hold on his repaired soul. She had no clue about how he had done it without excruciating remorse but he had three days after Harry and Ron began the Horcrux hunt. Meaning the boys' attempts were pointless. The man had even killed his own snake to do it. Sighing she returned her thoughts to what was important; the bond. Voldemort probably knew the full extent. Most likely he was listening in on her thoughts and she just gave away everything.

A sour expression crossed her tanned features as she slid into the water and began to wash. She decided to wait out her strategies until she was certain he could not plunder her mind from the other side of a closed door. Sighing she scrubbed the invisible grim from her body and hair before dragging herself out and drying; unfortunately, there was only one towel and so she used it to cover her body. Steeling herself for another confrontation Hermione entered the bedroom. To her dismay a tight fitting emerald dress was laid on the straightened sheets of the four poster bed. Her….well, the Dark Lord was standing a couple feet away expectantly, but she had yet to move.

Growling he gestured to the very revealing dress, "put it on and hurry we have somewhere to be."

Taking a deep breath she hobbled to the end of the bed but was suddenly stopped. Startled she looked over to find Voldemort kneeling at her black and blue joint. He mumbled something before the coloring was back to normal and the pain was gone, "I would leave it but I want you in," his hand grabbed the towel and yanked it from her grasp before drinking in her damp form, "perfect form," he chuckled as he stood, "anyway, the knee would have caused a little problem with my plans."

She swallowed thickly. The sudden awareness of her naked body made her cheeks flush and her body to shiver. His intense gaze only fueled her heated embarrassment so she turned back to the dress. Heat lanced her flesh as those eyes took her in from the back lingering on her firm backside. A low animalistic growl caused her to drag the satin dress over her head hurriedly. The blasted thing refused to go past her mid-thigh and clung tightly to every inch of her body like a second skin. The low dip in the front revealing beyond a modest amount of cleavage and Hermione could not help the feeling of being even more naked than before, but another thought struck her, "where are my undergarments?"

His grin was far too pleasant for Hermione to feel any form of security, "you won't be needing them today."

Her eyes grew in size as he drug her bare foot from the room and down a spiraling staircase, "why?"

"In time, in time," he forced her through yet another wooden door, "I'd advise you to obey, my innocent, because if not then I'll have to take matters into my own hands," he continued to pull her down yet another set of stairs before stopping at the bottom, "you wouldn't want to be whimpering and weak near my Death Eaters wearing that now would you."

She gulped and shook her head in the negative before he forced her out into the hall with a curt 'good'. The room struck Hermione dumb. They were in Hogwarts! Garnet carpet cushioned the bare flesh beneath her soft feet. Suites of armor saluted and stood sentry down each hallway and between them were pictures of different shapes and sizes puzzled together in the best way to fit as many as possible without bumping the other. The glorious sight almost made her cry for joy; however, the wafting of Dark Magic from behind her form and the rough cloak pressed against her back, harboring the purely masculine body of Lord Voldemort killed the moment. His cold voiced aided in destroying her enjoyment, "How quick your emotions change. Let me guess. Thinking of me, luv?"

Glowering at him she chose to remain silent. If he wanted her to obey then she would, but it was only because she had no clue what he was up to and the cold draft in the hall was making things a little uncomfortable for her.

The grin was palpable in his voice, "I'll take that as a yes," touching her lower back he began to direct her through the familiar building, "now, let us take this time to get a couple things straight. Stay silent and stay by my side at all times. Sit only when we eat, but stand the rest of the time."

She nodded her understanding as they reached the towering double doors, "and one more thing," he grabbed her tightly and brought her face to his, "do not look at another male in this room with any form of desire."

One of her eyebrows rose confused, "um…ok."

His eyes narrowed before he released her and flung the doors wide with his wand. An entrance fit for a showy Dark Lord. He entered with Hermione close by his side.

The sight robbed her breath and stilled her beating heart in pain. Above their heads were plain wooden rafters crisscrossing to make up the build of the large frame. No stars, no clouds, no snow. No magic. The vacancy made her lungs want to cease moving forever and tears of rage and anguish struggled to spill forth from behind her mask. Powerful demands slammed against her to make destructive war with those who took this home from her, from them. The knife sheathed within her beating heart drove deeper at seeing the colors vanished from their reserved places above the four house tables. The place was empty and cold. No longer the home she grew to love and cherish. She grew up here surrounded by love and joy, adventure and security, but now it was nothing but a shell. Long empty of the pulsing life it once contained. A cold settled into her bones as they approached the tallest chair settled into the back behind a long table. The staff table where her courageous and strong teachers had sat; heads held high with such pride and protection. Now they stood empty to her. No matter if Death Eater's filled the posts they would always be hollow seats holding ghosts of the past she wished to reclaim.

He took the seat that was so valuable to all. The seat that Albus Dumbledore had once claimed his; she steeled herself quickly upon feeling the real tears bite at her eyes. What was gone was gone. Nothing could bring it back no matter how much she cried out for them to be safe with her. Wiping her face clean of any emotion she turned to the small group settled in the far corner; distraction was her only option now. Four held themselves so brilliantly that she made no mistake in who they were. While most huddled to the ground or hunched over in defeat they stood proud and ready. Tonight there were no more white-flags, only battle, loss and victory. The burlap black bags held tightly over their heads kept the rest anonymous to the lioness's gaze but she would be patient.

She stood by his side unmoving, nonspeaking as the powerful man addressed a wickedly handsome raven haired man. She immediately recognized him to be the deranged husband of Bellatrix Lestrange, or use to be at least. For a moment she thought to drool over him but she could not find the attraction to do so. He was tall and rugged. A model of the perfect man but something about him was off for her. Maybe it was the way he held himself so different from Voldemort. Shock coursed through her mind at what she thought. Mentally growling she forced her attention back on the man and Voldemort; unfortunately, she had missed some of the conversation.

"She was furious to hear about the Mudblood, m'lord," Hermione mentally scolded at the title but mentally 'wooped' loudly at being able to affect someone so early. Bella was dead because she hated her. That was pretty easy, "Unfortunately, that female at your side was what our arguments had been about after the war. Truth was, our blood lust had been satiated for the time being."

Hermione appraised Voldemort's reaction by peripheral vision, he seemed pensive, "and you? What was your argument?"

Rodolphus stood proudly and looked Voldemort in the eye. The perfect way to prove his truth and loyalty, "it is your business, m'lord. Not mine or any others. What you do with her is your desire, your choice. I do not have a death wish."

Voldemort grinned triumphantly, "I have found truth in your eyes, Rodolphus," he stood swiftly and the room followed in a wave of black, "a loyal Death Eater indeed! I shall reward you rather than punish you, Rodolphus, for I am in a good mood but first we must eat. Take your seat."

Grabbing the chair next to him he drew it out and nodded his head for Hermione to take, which she did without question. Something still wasn't adding up and he was in a very good mood, making things worse. The meal was fantastic but once again missing the true taste of Hogwarts. Sighing quietly to herself she ate before rising once again to stand by the Dark Lord's side. One way to find out what kind of card was up his sleeve was to let it happen, but it wasn't like she could do anything about it if she did know.

Suddenly, the hall was filled with the echoed of scrapping wood and clicking heels. Tables were pressed snuggly against the stone walls beneath the towering stain-glass windows. Their chairs, now pushed together into lines rolling up from the giant double doors, looked like poorly constructed pews. Various sized Death Eaters reclined noisily on the chairs waiting for their comrades to finish and take their own seats. Lord Voldemort sat above the rest. Seated in the Headmaster's chair, his throne, raised upon a stone dais where the staff table had once been. Hermione stood stoic by his side her hazel eyes drinking in the view of the busy Death Eaters and their motionless social counterparts resting in the makeshift bleachers.

Once the scraping and clattering ceased her vision exploded in a swarm of black as their swift movements fanned out midnight cloaks. Once they were settled her eyes came to the nine attention claiming forms at the back of the room. Four stood unscathed and strong. Standing proud and ready for their humiliation; she knew them. However, the other five were wound tight. Two were drug behind the rest. Blood coated the stone ground wherever they touched, gleaming in the firelight like a snail's trail. The other three limped or hunched over, obviously favoring an injury from the previous battle. All five heads were lowered in what any member of this crowd would recognize as defeat, but if they could see the fire glinting in the eyes beneath the silken cowls they would know what Hermione knew. They were bidding their time, saving their energy.

Sadness threatened to emerge. Threatened to spill forth in uncontrollable volumes. So much work and fight and only nine stood above the rest, and only four of those five had the will power to keep living. Life was over for the five not because it would be taken, but because they believed it to be. Now they fought to die. Their different sized builds hinted at who they might be, but she chose not to name them. To name them would mean forming a bond, waking up old memories that needed to stay dormant. When their faces were revealed she could deal with it then. She used her training skillfully and pushed all emotion away swiftly chaining them down in the far recesses of her mind. Her emotions were shut down and logic was working in overdrive.

Masked golden eyes watched as the small group was forced from the back, the sea of black parting to allow the small group and their escorts through. Once before the Dark Lord they were forced into an uneven line. Up close she could tell that the blood came from only two of the nine. Pity fell dead on her mind's barriers as she waited. She felt his searing gaze burning through her revealing dress, heating her skin not with flames but anticipation. She chose to ignore the blatant observation by continuing her critical analysis on the four she worked side-by-side with, but it was no use. Ignoring him was like trying to sleep with that annoying drip in the kitchen faucet loudly booming throughout the house. Her attention was brought abruptly to her body as invisible fingers, coursing with black magic, traced over her veins. She felt weak and vulnerable. Swift sweeps inside her head let her know that Voldemort was searching for the emotions she hid, demanding silently that she show him something or he would pry them from her. Once again she chose to ignore him even if the mental caresses quickened her heart rate. She could feel his amusement dancing around them quietly at her un-gryffindorish reaction, making her curse herself mentally for being aroused by the man without him touching her.

The heat suddenly left her body as he returned his gaze back to the captives before him, and with a wave of his ivory hand nine of his followers removed the silken head covers. She wanted to scream and cry out. To throw things against the wall in fury, but she restrained the instinct, jailing her anger and rage effectively. The five she had not known under the cowls looked up to her with a mixture of emotions: fury, defiance, disbelief, courage, honor, belief, and care. Remus visibly was the worst off. Doubled over, blood oozing from large gashes in his body. The deep oak irises emanating such loss that a fool would have known Tonks had been among the many corpses on Hogwart's ground, and that he hated that he was still breathing. The deep brown eyes glared up at her with such anger that she had to control her reaction to flinch away. He hated that it was her standing here and not his love, Tonks.

Refraining the urge to sigh she looked away, casting her attention to the shaking male next to him. His appearance was no longer a deep coffee grain. White had sucked away the color and now he hunched over with ashy grey flesh stretched over his form. He bled profusely, not as much as Remus, but inside she could tell he was far worse off. Kingsley Shacklebolt was dying. His once strong legs gave away beneath the African robes as he crumpled farther to the stone floor. Blood loss and contortion slowly claimed its victim as he heaved and coughed up the black red liquid painfully. The motherly red head next to him bent quickly to soothe the dying man. Her disobedient action caused two Death Eaters to wrench her away from the folded body and slap her hard across rosy cheeks. Mrs. Weasley fumed at the sight of everyone but refrained from lashing back. Ginny was still alive. Her baby girl was still in danger.

The last two were strange to see. The girl stood favoring her left leg, a long cut on her smooth cheek slicing through the dusting of small freckles. Her beauty was alluring and mesmerizing to those of the male race. She stood tall and proud in baby blue robes her dirty blonde hair sticking out in different directions from the fight. Icy blue eyes watched weakly from sunken sockets. Fleur Delacour-Weasley was the lust of many in the room, but she would die before any male touched her that was not Bill Weasley or she hoped.

The male with his off colored blonde hair like straw had his head tilted downward, a red line running from the corner of his sealed lips. Honestly she knew little to nothing about him, but she did know that he was the Auror who had joined in the disbelief that something had happened when she touched the artifact.

"Ah, now let's begin," Hermione turned to look at the rising form of the Dark Lord. He took a moment to stroke her warm cheek and warn her with his crimson gaze, ‘do not move’.

She gave him no indication of listening or not listening so he stalked off toward the injured group of Order members. His lean form stopped predatorily before Remus, "Wolf, I have no use for you," oak eyes glared unmoving up at Hermione not caring that Death stood inches away from him, "however, a request has been given to me by a loyal member of my followers," snapping his thin fingers together a small group of white robed Medi-Wizards swept into the crowded room. The werewolf snapped his glare to the towering male and he growled loudly as they strapped his struggling form to a floating stretcher before dragging him to the back of the room where they continued to stop the bleeding. Hermione wondered why they did not take him back to the infirmary, but then she figured that Voldemort wanted him to see the show; whatever that was.

A red gaze peered down at the gasping form of Kingsley before addressing him in a disappointing tone, "you're bleeding all over my floor."

The man grunted in pain as Voldemort stepped around him to the mother of so many, "the red-headed-hen of the Order, Mrs. Weasley," he took her hand mockingly to place a chaste kiss on the top but she jerked it from his grasp with a growl.

"Spirit," he chuckled then turned to her daughter-in-law, "bonjour, madam Weasley, comment va ton mari?"

"Espèce d'monstre!" She spat on the ground near his booted feet as fresh tears broke from her bloodshot eyes. A low snarl came from the elder Weasley next to her. Hermione could hear the humor in his voice as he stepped forward and stroked her pale cheek, "Mm, is zere' som'sing vrong vith 'im, Madam?"

"Ba'sterd! I vill 'ave nozing to do vith you!"

Hermione refrained the heinous and barbaric emotions from coming up, barely, and watched his bald head tilt slightly to the side in amusement, "my dear, I believe you misunderstand," he kept eye contact as his wand came up, "You are far from my type and your veela charm is useless against me," a blast of green shot out and knocked the last male off his feet, "I'm merely making conversation and I'm sure your mari would be very upset once the day is done," he spun in a flurry of robes and Hermione had to scold herself for allowing an odd relief to bubble up, "begin with the French wench."

On his return he grabbed Hermione by her upper arms and brought her down into his lap. Placing a leg on either side of him, "this is where the fun begins, my innocent."

A loud scream erupted from behind her back but his lips were on her skin. Nipping the soft flesh distractingly as his long fingers traced up her exposed thighs, running teasingly, fleetingly beneath the black material before drawing back. Ruptures of emotions bubbled out from behind her crafted barrier while his skilled tongue traced lines of fire up her neck. She tried desperately to focus on Fleur's screams and push away the intoxicating feel of his teeth and tongue, but warmth had flooded through her stomach and gather between her legs, aching to be filled.

Long arms drew her flush against his powerful frame before his lips crushed down upon hers. His long tongue dominated the small cave of her mouth with familiar strokes and powerful flicks. She was losing the battle to stay focused and the loud whimpering cries of her friend were fading against the freight train of desire wafting around them. Large hands gripped her barely covered backside and ground her into his hidden erection, drawing a moan from both parties. She broke from the kiss and arched her back. The soft curves of her breasts exposed and just beneath the black cloth were hard peaks aching for his attention. Grinning he bent and drew the covered nipple into the hot moistness of his mouth making his beautiful Gryffindor gasp and squirm on his lap. Her hips moved frantically against him hardening his already pulsing member to an unbearable state.

Broken cries of rage broke out from behind her flustered and aching body, but this time it was Molly, "Hermione! How can you!"

Hermione's flaming mind could hear the tussle from behind her as they restrained the mother hen, but nothing could break her from the ecstasy that this man was sending through her body, "release me, Hermione," his breath cooled the wet material around her nipple making her groan louder before she was frantically undoing his breeches, allowing his aching member to spring forth. Before she could comprehend what was happening he impaled her on his length holding her close as he began to thrust.

"Ginny look at me! Don't touch my daughter-in-law you disgusting piece of trash. Hermione you whore!" a loudly cast curse brought the older woman to her knees near the coughing and crying form of her daughter-in-law. Bruises blotched her skin and blood trickled from her pink lips. Her baby blue robes were torn and ripped mercilessly; however, the overwhelming display of their Dark Lord demanded their attention so the young female went untouched for now.

Hermione's cries of pleasure echoed through the hall as the Death Eaters watched their master dominate the intelligent side kick of Harry Potter. The innocent Gryffindor mudblood was at their lord's beck and call, screaming out his name in such an intoxicating mantra that they unconsciously hardened and remained unaware of their own need of release; Hermione's erotic movements claiming their full attention.

Voldemort's long arms covered around her butt and back. Her smaller appendages wrapped around his ivory neck as his teeth found the smooth flesh next to her shoulder, their lower halves grinding together in a magical rhythm that silenced the red head's next burst. She had never seen so much passion expressed. Even her and her husband hand never shared their bodies in such a youthful powerful display. Electricity seemed to waft off of the two in waves, filling the room with dark forbidding, gentle caressing magic.

The contradiction of the two was breath-taking and rare. The tanned skin peeking out from their clothing glistened against pale ivory flesh. Wide eyes took in the smooth upward jerk of her arched body as he pumped into her, showing his claim on the female riding him. No male would dare to touch her. No idiot would dare to challenge him. No rebels would have the moral to go against him. They watched his form rise, her smooth legs wrapping around his waist tightly with familiarity. The sweat coated flesh textured as his hips pick up pace. Her chest pressed tightly against him their lips moving together in a frantic kiss. His hips shifted causing her to break the kiss and cry out his name loud and long. Her orgasm forced her walls to clamp down around his pulsing member, which brought him over the edge with her.

His seed continued to spill slowly into her as he cradled the panting female in his arms. Her head resting exhaustingly in the crook of his shoulder, "do you see now," he stroked her sweat sleeked neck, "your lioness is mine," he looked to the females on the ground glaring up at the woman in his arms; the four next to them had yet to move or show any kind of emotion. It intrigued him, "restrain those two," he turned to Rodolphus who was openly lusting after the witch pressed firmly to him, "I would advise you to keep your eyes elsewhere, Rodolphus," the man's head snapped to attention stupidly making eye contact with his lord, "and remove the images of what you wish to do to my witch to yourself! Now pick one of those four to be your prize before I change my mind!"

Rodolphus visibly gulp as the Dark Lord settle back into the chair behind him shifting the young woman around on his lap so that her legs draped over one side of his longer ones. She had a perfect view of the four lined up before them. Following her gaze Rodolphus stepped down and examined them closely. Hermione watched as he ran his hands over an unresponsive Ginny and then a slightly twitching Luna. He took the odd movement to be fear of him and grabbed her before nodding to his lord. Not even glancing at Neville and Lavender. Of course, Hermione knew that Luna had the patience of a two-year old and had to be doing something otherwise she would twitch. Voldemort nodded his head in a dismissive manner indicating he could leave or stay with his prize. Hermione knew by the hunger in his eyes that leaving was the only option and so Luna Lovegood was drug from the room, silently. Hermione inwardly smiled at her magnificent façade; she just hoped that the experience would not be too rough on Rodolphus. Crazy does love company. She allowed a smile to lighten up her eyes as she looked into the eyes of Ginny Weasley.

The girl responded accordingly with yet another blank expression, "auction the last three off now, Pettigrew."

The shortest cloaked figure grunted something before stepping up and dragging Ginny to the center before Voldemort. The auction did not take long, and Voldmort was close to putting her to sleep with the slow strokes on her bare arm and neck. She managed to see that Ginny was sold off to Severus, which was a very odd thing in Hermione's opinion. The gothic ex-professor had never really showed an interest in anything let alone a woman. Maybe he needed a lab assistant or something, but Hermione knew that her red headed friend was going to have almost the same amount of trouble as she was.

Lavender went to Lucius immediately cheering up the two Malfoy males, but completely frustrating a very unhappy Narcissa Malfoy. A sex toy was the obvious relation in this scenario, but Lavender had taken to the erotic act very well. She was the only one to actually sleep with three members of the Order after the offer, including Ron, who had no clue about the other two. She was very well suited to manipulate that whole household especially with the visible tension.

Finally, Pettigrew came to Neville. Sadly, no one really wanted him because the majority of the room was male and the females had no interest in the Herbologist. She felt kind of bad for him, but he ended up becoming a member of the House Elf staff in the castle, which was actually extremely convenient. The perfect communication line if Malfoy, Severus, and Rodolphus stayed within the castle walls.

The positions were perfect and it greatly satisfied her. But, Hermione was having trouble staying awake. Her whole body ached with the slightly rougher sex that she and Voldemort had just participated in. True, she was completely and utterly embarrassed that they had had sex before every single one of his Death Eaters and a small number of her friends. Some of his followers during the auction had actually slipped to the back of the room to relieve themselves, which had disgusted her. She was furious at what had happened, and not because he accomplished his task of showing his power over her before members of her own army, but because people had watched and got off on it!

But, she was too tired to express this fury and instead just laid there against him. She thought he would carry her back like he normally did. Of course she could not have been more wrong. When Voldemort stood he dumped her at his feet and she realized that she was on her own. He watched her with a glare before looking over to the restrained females, "have your fun with them and then send them out into the streets. Let it be known that Hermione Jean Granger is mine!"

Choruses of cheers flowed around the room as he stepped over her and walked toward the door. Confused Hermione tried to keep her modesty while watching him strut away. The insides of her thighs were sticky with the aftermath of their joining. So he has sex with her then just walks off like she is nothing! Men, what pains! Growling she struggled to her feet. The hungry glances his Death Eaters were sending her way was far from comfortable, of course, she doubted that Voldemort would allow any of them to touch her. Possessive jerk. She tried to keep her dignity in following him and only stumble once when he threw his Dark Magic into her again, meaning to knock her down. She managed to stay up and ignore it while she rushed out of the door right before it could close and slammed into his hard frame, "you did good."

She glared up at him, "was that necessary!'

His eyes flashed as he stroked her cheek, "yes, now they know you are mine and it will also destroy all hope that anyone had about trying to reclaim anything from me."

"I am not yours!"

He turned and walked away from her down the hall as another burst of Dark Magic hit her, "you misspoke, you are mine."

She growled before rushing up to confront him, "no, you forget that not all of me is yours! Remember, my soul!" She was getting fed up with all the emphasizing on the stupid words.

He spun on her and slammed a powerful rush of magic through her body. She dropped and groaned loudly, "but everything else is, and for now that will do. Get up, we have one more place to go."

Groaning she drew herself up and straightened her dress. When she looked to him he was already a good way ahead. Grunting she rushed after him, trying to calm the sickness bubbling inside of her stomach. He was having too much fun with using her weakness against her and it sucked. Grumbling she finally caught up. Not only was he taking steps that were ten times longer than her legs but his emotions were very rushed with impatience. They stopped before the Library doors where he rushed her in. She was about to turn and ask what in the heck was happening when her eyes landed on the small metallic block lifted up on a pedestal with a glass case protecting it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is Chapter 5 and 6 combined and a little edited. I have the new chapter up and ready to go, but I want to get this completely up to date. I hope you enjoyed.
> 
> I own nothing.
> 
> All the best,
> 
> BookishBrains


	6. Vinca Minor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione discovers a darker side to Helen's story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do not own anything.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> BookishBrains

Hermione froze. What tan had returned to her flesh seeped out once more, leaving her wide eyed and ghostly pale. A habit she was starting to hate. Inside, a panicked thumping was attempting to break through her rib cage and the once warm blood ran arctic through her veins. A chill shook her flesh and her lungs clenched painfully. The small marks on her palm tingled as a hurricane of memories came flooding back to her. Swallowing hard she stared it down, the glinting steal corners glaring back at her. Its wickedness rested upon an emerald silk pillow comfortably and a thick coating of magical glass either protected it from the world or the world from it. At this point she was a firm believer of the latter. It was mocking her with the comfort like a tyrant on his throne watching a peasant squirm under his gaze. The crystalline runes' etched on its surface a stark contrast to the dark gray alloy they infected. The cancerous curves, angles, and lines stretched all over the smooth planes of the artifact, telling of the old days in a language long dead. 

Frustration for the deceased Order and Voldemort sprang forth, giving her what strength she needed to focus. That damn thing was so unique, so intoxicating to the point she could pick it out of a Dwarven hoard heap. Every angle was crafted so perfectly symmetrical that only a true master could have done it. Only a truly powerful Dwarf could have crafted the object and then imbue it with such overwhelming power. The thing emanated magic like Voldemort confusing her senses as the flesh and blood Voldemort continued to babble on about something behind her. Hermione gave a moment to try and focus on his words, but her attention was clouded by the gleaming block of malice. Her thoughts drifted from the rumble of his voice to the thing that had, with such magnificent trickery, complicated things for her drastically. Glowering, white hot hate bubbled up from a hidden pool of blackness so suddenly that she gasped. She flinched as the hate continued to draw on the blackness hungrily. Terrified, she tried to withdraw from the strange feelings swirling up from the empty pit in her being, but there was no escaping whatever had been unleashed. Sweat dotted her skin as weakness settled into her muscles like a drug. A roaring filled her ears and the peripheral of her eyes faded to black until her sole focus was the artifact. Frustrated she glared daggers at the foul piece of metal, narrowing her eyes even further on the blasted object. If only she could get her hands on the idiot who lifted the hammer to forge it. He would so pay for what he intentionally OR inadvertently had done to her. Her hate started fade, leaving her far less courageous than with it present. Flustered she fought to bring it back, refusing to let it abandon her. But it vanished completely, leaving her body with a strange pulsing throb to fill her senses. The pulsing rose up from the unknown pool wave after wave. A sensation, she would think, that a harp would feel when a musician ran skilled fingers across her strings. The music it made calling out to the hunk of metal, sitting so mockingly behind its glass protection. 

She had unconsciously bent forward when the overwhelming feeling hit. Ignore it. She could do that. Straightening out her spine she smiled triumphantly at the block, nose high in the air, previous fear forgotten. There was no way she would fall victim to the strange sadness and wanting emanating from the block and her body. Her eyes began to burn as the heart-wrenching desire racked her petite frame over and over. Not at all, there was just some dust in her eyes and the irritation was causing her eyes to water and make her cheeks wet. Nope, not going to fall for that one, number one objective was to ignore any and all feelings that that thing would evoke.

Especially this new bizarre sedated feeling her body was suddenly experiencing, relaxing all of her muscles so very nicely. She remembered watching a tarantula hawk paralyze its prey on the Discovery Channel, at the time she was rooting for the giant wasp because it was killing a spider, but right now she felt nothing but sympathy for the creature. She was caught. Completely entranced by whatever spell the thing had put on her, but for some reason, she could care less. In fact, the feeling felt quite extraordinary. Her muscles were tired and she deserved such a wonderful feeling after what she has been through no matter how much her mind buzzed to escape the strange thickness surrounding it. She smiled lopsided at the strange war her mind was quickly loosing.

The last vestiges of a warning was banished completely in the face of the next overwhelming feeling. A single chill rushed up her spine, following invisible fingertips to her neck and upper cheeks. The skin tightened for just a few seconds in a finishing touch before vanishing. She felt all comfortable and sleepy. Similar to when someone strokes her arms or neck. The goofy grin on her face tilted downward. Was not someone doing just that earlier, a very arrogant unforgettable male? But, no matter how unforgettable she believed him to be she could not remember who it was. He was tall.

Her ears shifted oddly. Was someone yelling at her? She started to turn her head towards the muffled noise when an extremely bright glint off of the crystal lit up her astonished golden eyes, snaring her gaze permanently. Hermione was caught in a web, unable to pull away from the demanding presence before her. That thing across from her was so beautiful. It reminded her of ash coated mountains, flowers blooming from the death. Smiling happily, she cocked her head to the side curiously wondering how the smooth steal would feel beneath her palm. Determination stole the limelight in her hazel orbs and she walked forward, approaching the object of her desire with every step. The powerful urge to stroke the sharp contours, to try and ease the agony rising up in her any way possible. The need took over all functions of her body and pushed her forward. She had to touch it.

Seconds felt like an eternity as her bare feet carried her across the cool floor. The soft padding of her feet echoed loudly in her ears. The distance gave her time to ponder how anyone could carve those runes and then coat them in pure crystal. Such craftsmanship would require a master, not just any master—she was standing before the block hands reaching out to grasp the pointed angles—an incredible master that could shape anything with lava, anvil, and hammer. Like a Dwarf—her hands closed—A DWARF! 

Reality struck Hermione's enchantment induced mind too late. Cradled in the palms of her hands was none other than the despicable piece of metal she was trying to avoid. The points found the scared dots inside of her small hands, breaking the skin hungrily, uncaring of the acute pain. A surge light electricity tightening her hands around the block, sinking the points deeper. A sickening burst of magic erupted from the dark pool. Tendrils of wicked magic coiled through her small frame, speeding to connect with the metalic tips. Her head spun, a putrid egg smell filling her nostrils, and the library around her crumbled just to reshape into slate and limestone walls. Grey mixed with blue flowers carpeted the floor beneath her vulnerable feet. A strange chalky powder pushed up between her toes as she sank slightly. Above head the rafters vanished to a clear blue sky; flakes of soft grayish white falling slowly onto her upturned face, resembling the fall of snow in winter. The opening that replaced her beloved libraries roof now resembled the exit of a volcano. 

"Thogrand! Please, I beg of you! Don't do this! There has to be another way." 

Hermione's eyes grew to the size of saucers upon seeing the young female Dwarf un-vaporize before her very eyes. She was of a much taller height than any Dwarf in the history books, but she wore the usual Dwarven chainmail armor. Well, minus the heavy armor, which was odd for any Dwarf and her hair was the blondest Hermione had ever seen. A silky curtain of golden curls cascaded down her beautiful angular features. Hermione cocked her head to the side like a confused puppy, the woman could not be a Dwarf. On her armor there was no sign of the animal insignia that normally dominated the chest plate and shoulder pauldrons of the heavy armor. Usually, in case they ever come to a situation where their armor must be removed such as exile, a Dwarf would engrave a piece of metal with the animal and attach it to the mail right above the heart. The animal is a type of adulthood test that all Dwarves hold dearly, hence the position over the heart. 

Something was definitely off with this one; she even had two short swords hanging from her back in the most un-Dwarvish choice of weapon ever. Dwarves favored the heaviest of weapons, war axe, hammers, and claymores not dainty short swords, but that was not the oddest thing. Her eyes were a beautiful bright blue, killing all confusion for Hermione. The woman was no Dwarf not with those eyes. Dwarves are or were born with very dark browns, grays, greens, and some black eyes. The darker their eyes the more defense they had against the suns bright light, a defense mechanism that all Dwarves are born with, "Grifo, it must be done. You can help or not it does not change what will come! It will only make things easier if you decide to go this path." 

The human, only explanation to her differences, flinched visibly, but Hermione's attention was now on the fully materialized Dwarf standing to her right with a duplicate of the artifact nestled gently between his blacksmith hands. He was the ideal Dwarf, slightly taller than most, but exactly as she would picture. A mane of deep auburn surrounded his head. Stark white streaks of aged hair ran through it in various places, speaking volumes of his wisdom and battle years. Each of the discolored places was braided perfectly, leaving him with three on his head and two parallel in his beard. A thick scared and slightly bulbous nose dominated the center of his weathered face and above it where the blackest eyes she had ever seen. Power and wisdom poured out from their depths at such an alarming magnitude that she took a step back. A wicked black and gray scar cut diagonally from the top of his forehead to, what she could gather from the different way his hair grew, his right jaw line. The beard itself was well taken care of and hung predictably down to his waist. His armor was crafted excellently to the point of perfection out of the darkest ebony and gold, and, just as she expected, on his chest plate and pauldrons was the head of the Dragon. This male was the Drakka, king of the Dwarves, and he deserved the title. Every inch of this Dwarf's demeanor demanded dominance. So much, that he could give Lord Voldemort a run for his money, but there was something gentle about this past being that stood before her now, something Voldemort could not possess, "How Thogrand, you, the creator of that thing, said yourself that it is pure evil. Crafted from the hate born amidst the mountain's walls and lava rivers?" 

The sudden conversation broke Hermione's concentration and examination of the powerful Dwarf. Anger fed her newly revived hate. Here standing before her was the creator of that damned thing! She was ashamed that such a powerful Dwarf would create that horrible thing, "Grifo, you are very right; however, I am going to remedy this by giving it a conscience. A very powerful conscience." 

Reining in her emotions Hermione knitted her brow at the cryptic message. Wanting it to be answered, she waited patiently for the message, but a sudden blink—everything vanished for a second before returning—the scene left her unsatisfied and confused because now everything was different. Grifo was now looking down at her open palms while Thogrand paced before her, both were in completely different positions than before, "Are you sure this is what you wish to do, Thogrand?" 

Her voice was soft, barely audible, but it succeeded in halting his progress instantly, "it is the last option, Grifo," the shifting, clinking, and grinding of metal followed him across the room as he approached her, "I must save my people," he stopped inches from her spread hands, having to look up only slightly because of his unnatural height, "it is your choice, Grifo, lover of France." 

What? Lover of France? Is she French..wait! Stopping, the scene was doing that strange change thing again. If she had not been watching Grifo's trembling she would have never noticed the way her body froze for a split second right after Thogrand said her name, "I'll do this, for him and you, Thogrand," Hermione was forced to file the freezing away with the blinking so that she could pay attention. Him? 

"Are you sure, Grifo?" 

"I have nothing left to lose," raging blue eyes met his onyx orbs with such ferocity Hermione found her heart swelling with an unimaginable amount of pity, "my life died at the hands of that thing and I will not let it do this to others!" 

Hermione's eyes stung with Grifo's determination. The emotion grew rapidly in her chest and tears trickled down from Hermione’s shimmering golden eyes. There was so much pain and loss laboring the strange woman's voice, "then you must remember everything that I have told you before: who to look for, what to do, how to do it, and most importantly, Grifo, you must always follow your instincts. Always remember that last one, always, Grifo. You will not feel the same after this, feelings with beastly urges will fight to take over you but you must never give in to them. When it becomes hard, for it will in all of your years, remember, just…remember." 

Hermione watched closely as the young woman nodded her head before speaking once more, "before we do this, Thogrand, why is it that you never call me by my real name?" 

Saying she was floored was an understatement, the woman had a different name. Hungrily Hermione turned her attention to the Dwarf, who was now sporting a very mysterious looking smile, "it is that name that shall make you see. Your true name will be the trigger to its demise, Grifo." 

Another blink and both figures were gripping the artifact with scared and unblemished hands. Their heads thrown back in earth shattering, blood curling screams. Chills rushed throughout Hermione's body, racking gentle claws over her body. A sickening nausea bubbled up from her gut bringing stomach acid to burn her gasping throat, eyes watering now in agony. Weakness started to settle cancer like into her limbs and her world shook and shattered. Slate crumbled down around her, the sky above shatter into pieces of jagged glass that rained down upon her immobile body, and fumes gushed up from the floor to invade her fragile senses. The two figures before her were frozen in time, a bright white light erupting from their hands. Sweat coated her upper lip, the heat leaving her face red and she tried to brace herself for the oncoming fate. Then it happened, Thogrand lowered his head and detached himself from his picture, leaving a black and white duplicate holding his place before Grifo. 

Terrified she watched him stroll to a patch of exceptionally bright blue flowers as if there was all the time in the world. He bent down and plucked a single one flower from a nest of dull gray powder. The room started to spin around them as he straightened from his hunched over position all the while his deep eyes focused on the bloom nestled between his thick fingers. Delicately, he brought the center to his nose and inhaled deeply before turning bottomless eyes upon her. Seeing her and letting her know that he sees, "Vinca Minor. They are sacred to this area, Hermione." 

Her world went black. 

"Be careful with that!" A pale hand snatched the vile from her freckled fingers, startling her on the inside. Her features, though, remained blank and her body unresponsive. The pain she felt was unimaginable; her husband was dead along with her brothers and father and her mother was tossed to the Death Eater dogs in the Great Hall. Hermione was being put on display like a golden trophy and the others were sorted out like a deck of cards to that monster's lackeys and she, she, was stuck with her pompous arrogant potions professor who had yet to make clear his intentions of wanting her. She wanted to curl up into a ball on the floor and cry her heart out, but it was forbidden, for now at least. 

"I apologize," her voice was flat, emotionless to his ears but husky and unused to her. A month they had waited without speaking for the Final Battle to descend with fiery wings and blood coated talons upon the school's grounds, taking victim after victim mercilessly. She could feel his icy glare beating down on her with wonderment. Not one person—minus his lord—stood so stoically when he barked at them. Not that he barked anything at his lord. The show strengthened his resolve to break past young Ginevra's barriers no matter how long it took or what. 

"Come and stir this slowly while I finish with the ingredients," absentmindedly she did as she was told; his voice was far different than she remembered it to be. There was a silk undertone that threatened or promised things she refused to remember. The fast clicking of his blade on the cutting board announced his distraction, allowing her to glare at the bright orange liquid swirling around with her arm. She thought back to the Great Hall. Hermione was still with them no matter what anyone thought of her. She would never abandon them and for that reason she knew that something went wrong or, to her horror, terrifyingly right. The way that snake had touched her, stroked her, sent waves of possession throughout the room, warning all to stay away from the lioness. But, it was the other message that made her so furious. Hermione was and is seen as the last of the Heroes and with her in his arms it rips all of their will to fight. 

"Move aside," she heard the sultry snap break through her thoughts and she shifted away immediately. Her body was on auto-pilot as her mind examined the situation. With such possessiveness he would never let her out of his sight, so how were they to meet? Hermione could not be taken from the equation not while they were stuck alive amongst these vermin. So that everyone else could die peacefully while they stayed behind to do the one thing everyone was too weak to do. She vaguely remembered the meeting, a memory at the back of her mind. 

Dumbledore stood so tall at the end of the weathered and beaten table. Around her was all of the Order, their faces a blur because she refused to remember them, including the children they had secluded for so long. A moment of pride swelled within her heart as she sat patiently between Hermione and Harry, waiting for the discussion to commence. The tension in the room was weak against the young teens' excitement and adrenaline. 

"I am here to say that we have a high probability of losing this war," all excitement deflated and the tension swamped her inexperienced mind. Fear settled into her gut like a stone, "and that, if we do fall then we need to have a backup. People who will survive long after the deceased have left this world. Warriors of the mind who will stand amongst the blood of our side drenched and prepared to survive." From there twelve of us rose our hands. Only four of us made it. 

They gave up and chose death because they feared living without loved ones. Feared living without what they believed to be their life. The show of the survivor's in the Great Hall complimented this assumption far too well. Frustration threatened to boil up and over but she quickly checked it, getting angry and thinking like that would do nothing. Calming her interior, she relaxed. No, it was not right to make such cruel remarks. Those people deserved to die gallantly on the field. They should not be blamed for not being to live with the pain of loss. She had to stay strong, if not for their goal than for Hermione. She would not leave her friend to fight alone. Chestnut brown eyes flickered to Severus Snape. He was attentively working on the potion. She needed to start her work here, putting it off would aid no one. Maybe they could use Neville as a go between but for now she needed to join the war once more, "Neville was there for you to torment yet you chose the widow, Ginevra "Ginny" Potter, the Weasley by blood, and Potter by marriage," she could see the plane and muscles of his back go rigid, "Why me?" 

Ginny's tone sounded strange to her own ears and far too loud, but the determination she had aimed for was perfectly laced within each syllable. The accomplishment gave her something to mentally grin about. Her darkening chestnut eyes watched him closely. She could physically feel how her sudden outburst clung tightly to the lingering scents that permeated his laboratory, filling the room with a tenseness she had not expected. The thick black robes he wore religiously kept her from perceiving the rigidness of his back and arms but she could visibly see the way his shoulders tensed, straining the back of his pale neck into a defined pillar. The slow shift of the tight muscles broke her concentration, allowing the breath she had unconsciously been holding to release from her twitching lungs. The slow movement that had snapped her out of thought was him lowering his head a few inches. The new angle gave him the impression of inspecting the simmering potion in the midnight cauldron more closely. His hands, which were on the ingredients and wooden spoon, left their occupations and rested gently against the table on either side of his body. She had expected him to answer her then but he remained silent not once moving from the position he held across from her. 

The claustrophobia of fumes, emotions, and silence irked her to no end and she desperately wanted to leap across the room to strangle him. She pictured slamming his head against the cauldron and table of his precious room while yelling loudly in his face to answer her question of 'why he chose her of the four?'. Every ounce of her strength was focused on combating that urge as she stood emotionless and motionless mere feet behind Snape. But the pressure continued to build. She knew he was baiting her, trying to get some form of emotional outburst and the knowledge made it all the harder to control herself. What right did he have to test her!? 

Her back teeth slammed together quietly to enforce her control over the situation. The muscles beneath her flesh trembling with the desire to rage out with the power of a wild fire and destroy Severus Snape. She wanted to hear his screams as she had heard her fiancés. The horrid noise breaking through the foliage as a Death Eater carried her through the dank Forbidden Forest. She wanted it so badly that magic tingled at her fingertips, craving to be used on the hated ex-professor, who continued to keep to his silence. She hated him even more for that action. Luckily, Hermione decided to save her in a very frightening yet welcome way that evening. A Death Eater threw open Snape's door, afraid more of their lord than of the Potion's Master's furious demand for privacy, "Our lord demands yours and the girl’s presence immediately, Severus!" The green haired female was clearly out of breath but she dared not mess up on her errand, "something is wrong with our lord's Mudblood trophy. She won't wake up and isn't breathing correctly, and he is NOT in a good mood," she dashed out of the room quickly toward the dungeons throwing a last few words over her shoulder, "Hurry, Severus!"

Immediately the atmosphere in the room drained out to be replaced with pure frantic hysteria. The Death Eater's words had yet to soak completely into Ginny's frustrated mind as the man, who had angered her, threw himself around the room gathering various colored vials of liquids. Only when he spun on his heel and charged out the door with her thin wrist gripped in a vice like clamp did she realize exactly what the woman had said, "something is wrong with our lord's Mudblood trophy. She won't wake up and isn't breathing correctly…" Her heart sped up, beating against the inside of her ribcage, as fear settled deep within Ginny's body. Hermione was injured and the Dark Lord did not know what was wrong with her. Needing to be near her best friend, Ginny ran forward, no longer relying on Severus's strength and legs to carry her through the hallway. Adrenaline erupted from her adrenal gland saturating her veins with its power and propelling her forward quicker than her owner. She could hear his call but his warnings meant nothing to her as she broke through the door to Lord Voldemort's room. Her heart froze. 

What little color she had in her flesh seeped out of her body almost vanishing her many freckles completely. More yelling erupted from the room she was in, shrill and feminine, but Ginny's wide chestnut eyes were plastered to the lifeless form of Hermione Granger stretched out perfectly on the white sheets of the bed. Memories of the day she had been left alone with that dangerous artifact leapt to life in her mind like a picture movie moving in slow motion. She vaguely remembered how her father yelled at her to stay away from the scene but she came in anyway. Remus was searching frantically through various potion bottles not really knowing what to look for while Harry and Ron were fighting like the devil to reach their best friend and sister. Tears of fear were coursing down their faces like rivers as they yelled to her over and over again in a mantra of her name and ‘wake ups’. In fact, everyone was so busy with other things that was all Ginny could remember. She just rememberd the boys yelling at her, begging her to wake up and move. The first thing Hermione did when she opened her eyes was to look in the boys’ direction with a soft smile. Their screaming must have gotten through to her they had yelled until she heard them! Just as a hand was reaching to restrain the frantic Gryffindor she leapt out of range straight onto the bed next to Hermione's prone pale form. 

She could hear Voldemort's roar of anger as he stalked toward the bed followed by a fuming Severus but Ginny paid them no mind. Carefully she brushed a stray strand of brown hair from her friends face before placing a gentle kiss on her cold and clammy forehead. A slim wristed hand slid over her silent friend's heart. The slow thump every seven or eight seconds lifted the red head's spirits but it was not enough. She felt a strong angry grip sink into her should just as a loud snarling and yelling broke into the room momentarily distracting the owner of the hand. Tears were sliding cold down Hermione's cheek and Ginny took her opportunity without a second thought, "Hermione!" The room fell silent to her. The struggling noises a muffled background as she lowered her lips to the brilliant woman's ear and whispered, "We cannot do this without you, 'mione, we still need you. Please," a tear rolled down the young girl's cheek as the fear of losing another person settled in. Salty droplets fell onto Hermione's cheeks, mingling with the prone figure's pain, "WAKE UP!" 

Hermione was floating in a never ending darkness. Loud screams and fearful cries echoed above the slow mantra that was the Dwarvin Drakka's last words to her, "Vinca Minor, are sacred to this place." She hated this limbo of fear and uncertainty where terrible noises of ripping limbs and gushing blood slapping on hard earth threatened her gag reflex. Every scream, every cry increased in volume as time passed her by, forcing Hermione to listen to a never ending record of pain. Vinca Minor repeated over and over in the same even tone as before not belonging among the frantic cries around it. Roars of some unholy beast tore through her endless tomb, sending tears of fear and frustration from her half-lidded eyes. Their once courageous glowing gold depths now shimmered with an innocent honey need to escape her prison. The noises, the place, all of it too much, it felt as if she could no longer breathe that there was no oxygen in this dismal world for her to inhale. Shriller screams, as if from a bird, erupted in vengeance and Hermione's heart ached with the pain. Pictures of the Wizarding Civil War on the Hogwarts grounds shattered through her perfect defenses. Moats of bodies filling the grounds with gore and mud; flashing lights of green, red, blue, purple…so many colors lighting up and coloring the lifeless bodies! More tears came unhindered as invisible fingers clawed at her trembling form, moaning lifelessly around her, and the screams continued. Vinca Minor. Those hands touching her body pulling at her form felt frayed, wet, and soggy. Fresh smells of decay pummeled her sensitive nose, Vinca Minor, Vinca Minor, making her gag. They were pulling her down through the murky depths of black surrounding her form. The action felt as if she were being drug through water, Vinca Minor, Vinca Minor, Vinca Minor! His chant was growing in fever and Hermione fought against the fingers her heart beating to the rhythmic drum of his voice. 

But, her body felt weak, unneeded, and tired. What if she let them take her? The bliss of death would be most welcome…Everyone else was dead. They could handle the task on their own, right? She would know what to do. Ginny always…Hermione's heart stopped a beat as a loud yell broke past the screams, chant, and roars. She knew that voice. They still need you, Hermione. It was Thogrand's voice again echoing in her ears and moments later a pull on her heartstrings snapped Hermione from her daze and she glowered at the black void around her. Growling low in her throat she remembered that she had a task to complete and four individuals who needed her more than anything right now. With all the strength left in her body Hermione latched onto the anguished scream and pulled herself above the surface. Wake up! 

A bright light broke past the barrier of her eye lids as she slowly returned to the living. Her breathing was still off and her body could not move so she reverted to listening and feeling. Familiar cool masculine hands were stroking her face and inspecting her closely. Their movements seemed panicked and she mentally berated the Dark Lord for putting her in the same room with that stupid artifact. He deserved to worry. Taking her mind off his frantic examination Hermione listened to the loud struggles near what she believed to be the door. Things were falling off of the walls and shelves to crash on the floor accompanied by wild animalistic snarling the likes of she had never heard. Screams of a much higher hysterical pitch suddenly made siege of her ear drums and it took her a moment to realize that they were Ginny's outcries of rage, "LET GO! I HAVE TO HELP HER, YOU ASS!" Even though the outburst was thoroughly amusing, especially if it was directed at whom she thought, Hermione knew that she had to wake up soon. 

More struggling and something else shatter on the floor; unfortunately, that was not the only thing to shatter. Voldemort's temper had followed suit and the room was immediately coated in a sickening aura of Darkness unlike anything she had felt before. The room fell silent like a movie theatre when the lights go out and Hermione fought harder for the surface. She could feel his fingers sliding off of her pale cheek for his wand. He was going to kill someone and Hermione did NOT want that to happen over her. Throwing her eyes wide and drawing in a painful amount of air her hand flew up to gasp his as she began to heave for more air. Maybe forcing herself awake was not the best idea in the world. Her lungs now deflated were refusing to work right. Grabbing his hand tighter she fought for air. Her eyes were wide with panic and pain; tears filled them before gushing down her face. 

Voldemort was immediately back to attention and hovering over the young woman struggling on his bed. Her chest refused to rise with air as her body arched upwards. Swiftly he placed a large ivory hand underneath her ribs. His thumb encircling her left breast and his pointer finger and index finger slid up between them. Before Hermione had time to glare angrily at what he had done he put bone breaking force—not really breaking anything—on her body and ground out some hissing between his teeth. Immediately her lungs filled with air and then deflated. Voldemort repeated this four times before Hermione's breathing was returned to normal. The panic from the fight resided and she was able to relax underneath his body unconsciously curling close to his form for some form of comfort. She needed comfort right now, badly. 

Sensing the emotional distress inside her mind the man that caused her misery bundled her up close to his chest and sat with his back against the headboard, stroking her curls to help calm her. Time is what it took for her to get her bearings and that is exactly what she took. Once she had everything under control she lifted up into a sitting position in his lap. She wanted to yell at him for what she had tried to tell him but thought against it. Today had had far too many adventures for her taste in a lifetime. Sighing she gripped his hand softly before looking over to a teary faced and fuming Ginny. Hermione could not help but smile at the scene. Severus Snape had the red head tightly wrapped around him in an attempt to restrain her, but Hermione could not quite figure out who was restraining who in such a position. Snape's bottom lip was busted open and bleeding slightly and Ginny had bruises on her arms from his grip and a small cut on her forearm from what appeared to be a nail. Shaking her head at the scene Hermione looked past them. 

Remus Lupin, healed completely, was in a fit of rage as he fought to get out of the room they had drug him into. Hermione did not blame him for hating her but this was not Remus. No, this was a Lupin ready to die. Frowning she noticed the blood smeared across his face and the sweat plastering his shirt and hair to his body. He looked paler than usual and she could tell that the blood came from one of his captures. He must have bit one. Disappointment washed over her as she met his silver grey eyes. She did not flinch from the hate and depression but she did give him a furrowed glare, which was immediately met with an incredulous look, "Glare at me!? You are the one who whores herself to the man that killed everyone I loved! Did you really love anyone 'mione'!" 

She felt an arm tighten around her possessively if not a little triumphantly. Someone was happy to get a point across. Ignoring Voldemort she continued to watch her old professor and friend. He spoke out of heartache and the feelings of betrayal. But, he will not forget their task and she would remind him. Keeping eye contact she allowed every ounce of her emotions to soak back into the depths of her mind where the link to Voldemort was. She felt his strong arm twitch slightly. She now stared the werewolf down with cold golden metal eyes void of all feelings. The look spoke more than volumes to Remus and he immediately fell into a submissive slump crying without a care to anyone else in the world. Sobbing over and over what only Hermione could understand as an apology, "She's gone. She…They're gone." 

Fighting back the need to go to him she met her best friend's emotional chestnut eyes but instead of frowning smiled openly at the younger witch, shocking her slightly, "Thanks, Gin, I thought I was never going to get out of there," finally feeling the rush of exhaustion from the day she slumped against the masculine support behind her. 

Ginny visibly calmed at hearing her friend speak and loosened her grip on the flustered and shaking Severus Snape. She glanced once up to the red eyes watching Hermione like a hawk before relaxing further to the point of releasing her hold on him completely. Her friend was safe. She waited for him to do as well before walking over to her clearly dead tired best friend, "you lying there reminded me of when you touched the artifact," they both saw Remus's head snap up out of their peripheral vision, "I am lucky I remembered how you woke up. Two voices are better than one, though," Ginny paused after seeing the distant sadness in the opposite girl’s golden gaze but quickly continued when she sensed the slow change in her own emotions toward depression, "Mr High-and-Mighty hear forgot how to use his tongue I think or maybe it is just because he is not the sentimental type." 

Both girls enjoyed a small chuckle before a loud disapproving cough interrupted their moment. They turned to see a teary eyed Remus watching them with disapproval written all over his face at their expression of emotion but he had another question in mind, "Ginny's right. What you looked like, even though I was a little," he looked to the side momentarily before looking back at gold and chestnut, "busy. It was exactly how you looked that night." 

Hermione did not want to discuss it. She wanted to relax where she was and for just a few moments enjoy the reunion with her friend; however, her pride and training made her reconsider, pushing the needs to the back of her mind Hermione went to address the present dilemma. But a deep powerful voice that she could not help but bask in for a few moments rumbled up from behind her, "Alas, she told me of the side effects, but I believed her to be…exaggerating," he felt just as much as heard Hermione snort, "and being under such an impression I put her in the same room as it, the artifact." 

"You have it! But, Ho…SEVERUS! You no good cheating snake!" Remus was trying to control his emotions of rage once more but the full moon was very close. 

"Why thank you, Moony, and yes, that was me," Hermione glared daggers at her ex-professor but restrained her glares for Voldemort until they were alone. She seriously did not need any more fighting or physical/mental harm right now. 

"Yes, that was Severus who retrieved the block," Voldemort shifted Hermione in his lap and noted how she slumped against him like a rag doll, "I believe that it is a type of map or…"

"No," Voldemort's eyes flared away from the woman to the insolent werewolf but before he could do anything the male continued, "it is not a key. It may unlock something but right now it is more than that. It could be a map but if so then the map is inside Hermione or she is the key to triggering the map, which, at this pace is impossible to figure out because she continues to have these blackouts around it," Voldemort calmed his temper and with a nod of his head had the werewolf released. 

"Yes, I concur with that, wolf, continue." 

Remus rose slowly to his feet with some difficulty but before he spoke again he looked to the boneless form of Hermione curled close to the Dark Lord's abdomen. Her hazel eyes were still as soft as he remembered them being, still as caring as they always had been. What he saw in the Great Hall was no doubt a beautiful woman in the throes of passion with a man that had killed and maimed many, but she was still Hermione no matter what the Dark Lord did to her whether it pleasure or pain. She was still their innocent Hermione reading a book near the fire and then sending question after question at him until they were in an intellectual debate over so many issues. She was the innocent girl that stood up before them all and lit the fire in their hearts with molten gold eyes and clear crisp words of battle, standing shoulder to shoulder with her best friends and brothers: Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley. Even during her training, she had played the role of lifeline to many, supporting them and raising moral. Never once did she give up. Now before him her beautiful hazel eyes watched him silently, gently understanding his desire to die and not condemning his actions or outbursts. His heart began to weep. 

Looking to her right he met eyes with Ginny Potter. Her loving chestnut orbs watched him in a watery state. Her face was soft and freckled like he remembered Lily's to be long ago when James and Sirius were alive. Her bright red locks were just as vibrant, but they were nowhere near the same. The young witch that stood before him could make it through anything once her mind was set. Those chestnut eyes could light with a flame inextinguishable and unstoppable when her mind was set. She was one of them. One of the five that chose to live after the Order had fallen in war. Even after the man she loved with all her heart died she still stood with her head up ready to face the new day, the new challenge. Her heart was broken but she was letting it heal. 

Shame boiled angrily in his heart at his disgusting antics over the past couple of days. Fenrir had asked for him to live so that they would either fight to the death on the full moon or have Remus mate with another female, forcing him at the time to live with his misery. He would not leave a woman to suffer alone. But, watching these two women before him he saw more. He had been one of the Order Members to teach them and he watched every day as they met each task with unimaginable vigor and determination. As people dropped out they continued to fight and now that he was thinking straight so would he. He would leave them to do their task but he would not leave them to suffer alone! Tonks and their unborn were gone but he could still live on for them for as long as possible. He would fight to make this world better. The world that he loved, "the day we left Hermione alone that block of metal injected something into her body. Something very dark and dangerous. It somehow enhanced her allergy to Dark Magic to an incredible degree," he smiled once at Ginny before meeting gazes with Voldemort his wolf side wary of the alpha male, "I am sure you have discovered this," Voldemort nodded to him, "well, that is the thing. That block does not have any Dark Magic left within it." 

"There is definitely magic inside of that object," Voldemort had narrowed his gaze at the scarred man. 

Remus nodded back, "Magic, yes, but not Dark Magic." 

Hermione's slowly dripping head rose drowsily to stare into her old mentor's face. She realized that he had regained his composure and was now standing with more will, giving Hermione more strength to stay awake. Unconsciously she gripped onto Voldemort's arm, "so you're saying that whatever is in the block is not what is causing my blackouts, but what is inside of me that is?" 

"Which is triggered by whatever is inside of the block," Voldemort's satiny voice traveled over her head and she looked up to him, his narrowed eyes on Remus. 

Remus nodded his head still listening to the wolf inside and staying submissive to the male on the bed, "or controlled." 

Severus, who had been quietly listening to the conversation, entered upon seeing his lord's eyes narrow considerably toward Remus, "So if the Dark is in Miss Granger and there is something controlling the Magic inside of her what is that something? And if she is now a map, where does this map lead us, if it does in fact lead somewhere?" 

Remus and Voldemort both looked toward Severus contemplatively when a sudden gasp broke the silence. All eyes fell on the wide eyed Hermione before she blurted out loudly in a drowsy voice, "Vinca Minor!" 


	7. The Others

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet the team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note! So I got confused about the site because I found a bit of a muse and wrote a brand new chapter after years of not working on it. ANYWAY! Chapter 7, if you have read it is a future chapter (supposed to be 12 or 13). I am fixing this now and moving everything around so that it will be in the right order! Thank you soulsiphon for pointing this out in your review. Enjoy!
> 
> BookishBrains

Sight—sleep soaked silver fluttered out from behind long luscious ebony lashes; a groggy scene flashing across their shimmering slits before disappearing behind a quick shutter of crinkled flesh. Teasingly the pale skin once more slid away revealing moonlit Neptune eyes kissed with silver flecks born from constantly living amongst the stars. A glazed hint of satisfaction and sleep lingering deceptively around the glistening edges of the twin gems as they roamed over the overtly masculine room, drinking in the unfamiliar sight warily before pausing; their perception was from the floor. Confused the mind behind the eyes addressed a different sense for answers.

Touch—rough carpet nibbled at the smooth skin of her right side. Yes, she was definitely a she and she was definitely unclothed. Slight panic settled in before a low hiss escaped through her swollen coral lips, kissed lips, as the carpet beneath her snapped angrily at a raw spot on her flesh. The movement happened to be caused by the over-six-foot, leanly-muscled, and considerably heavy heat breathing in from atop her figure; her mind cleared of that early morning fog she had routinely grown accustomed to since birth and all senses came together, bringing sharp memories with them. Oh, textured pecks, hotter than a man's chest should be in both contexts, pressed into her back and shoulder, rocking her body imperceptibly with each rugged intake of breath; a movement that reminded her exactly of what happened the night before. Warm puffs of air ghosted along her neck erotically slivering into the small dip of her throat as the tips of thick black locks tickled her cheek.

Ecstasy—Oh yes, now I remember, a lazy smile twitched at the corner of her not only swollen but generously bruised lips. Last night's multiple encounters with the six feet of masculine heat behind her brought the most orgasmic pleasures! Like Nymphlers dancing for their mates in a moonlit meadow, possibly. The poor man had been deliciously surprised at how much she enjoyed and reciprocated his expertly rough handling, wickedly marking his shoulders and chest with passionate teeth and his back with hungry nails. Thankfully, after the initial surprise of her participation and encouragement his expression darkened hungrily and the pleasure/pain increased tenfold. Lethargically looking down, she admired the magnificence of her pale flesh decorated with his dark art; her body was his masterpiece. Each bite, scrape, cut, and bruise hummed with a pleasing frequency that his fingers had expertly coaxed into her body, like tuning an instrument; specifically listening to her every moan, cry, scream, and whimper, so that each was at the correct pitch and tone. His long thickly corded thigh—wrapped around her—pressed heavily on the large hand sized bruises belting her hips, forcing Luna Lovegood to fight down a pleased purr in order not to wake her slumbering partner.

Sighing contentedly, she once again took in the place. The room was a disaster. Rodolphus was exceptionally impatient in his lust —especially after Hermione's very erotic show that caused even Neville to twitch—and once she and the man had reached the room her back became close friends with the wall, the four poster, the bed, his chest, the desk drawers, and the carpet, the latter being his favorite. Sighing she stretched out her elated muscles, inadvertently causing the very possessive male to tighten his hold on her body with a soft sleepy growl, pressing her deeper under his heavy frame. Grinning wider she settled into the possessive embrace and the shoulder bruising pressure of the floor looking back onto her 'introduction' to the rough sex she loved so much.

Like all the other girls, during the offer—minus Hermione, of course, she refused in favor of the future, especially after Severus's warning. Luna allowed a moment to reflect on how she admired Hermione for her sacrifice and courage even though the Order was adamant on taking her purity, Like a Moon Frog!—she had been hoping for gentle lovemaking; something she could truly appreciate, but what she got was a high-strung heavily-hung werewolf twenty-four hours from the full moon.

The encounter had been an accident born from her curious and Nargle-possessed habits, and his desire to be outside when the full moon was near, away from the temptation of his unwilling wife. She had wondered far too close to the forest's edge keeping an eye out for the Blibbering Humdinger—secretly thinking of what the sex would be like and with whom she would allow it, unknowingly arousing herself with the thoughts—and he had caught her scent. At first it was a game, using her curiosity to lure her deeper into the forest away from help; the next thing she knew a very aroused, frustrated male had her pressed to a tree with every intention of being satisfied, and they both were. Bill never let Fleur know because he loved her too much and Luna would never harm the newly-weds in such a manner, she just wanted the sex, hmm, I lost my shoes that day too. But Fleur could not handle Bill's rough loving before the moon's control took over and he was a young wolf. He needed the release desperately or he would find it ten-fold in bloodlust. Luna did not want that on his conscience, amazing sex was a superb bonus; of course, she made sure to cover what marks could be visible and he made sure to keep them in easily concealable areas.

A nip at her neck and a warm, soothing tongue brought her back to the present where Rodolphus was awake and nuzzling her flesh affectionately, "your performance last night was exquisite," he looked up to her moonlit eyes, "Bella always enjoyed such play but never did she let me dominate her in such a satisfying manner, mmm," he bit her sharply making her gasp in pleasure, "I will…"

The door flew open and Neville Longbottom stumbled in, causing rage to pour off of her bedmate, floormate, in waves as Neville heaved for his words, "T-the, *gasp*, D-d Lord, *heave*, H-Her-Hermione. Grr Hall!"

Luna sat up abruptly, making Rodolphus's rage increase, but she was fast in placating him, "I believe our Dark Lord requires your presence, Master, and apparently Hermione is in need of me. Do you think it is the Mildurd Curlisks!"

She deliberately used the name he demanded she scream all night causing the man to grin hungrily before leaning into her ear, "I will not punish you for your insolence in believing me a hormonal-raged ape easily manipulated into supplication by a word, my little slut, for my mark burns with his desire of my presence, but it is not immediate," her shimmering gaze met burning coals; a seductive and taunting smirk sliding across her lips, dreamy almost, "oh, I shall keep you close, my little pet," a vipers strike and he had her in a deep kiss, sliding her onto his lap and himself into her, Neville completely forgotten.

* * *

Annoyed. Frustrated. Enraged. Emotions. Things she should NOT be feeling due to her training let alone expressing; expressing by ripping very expensive male clothing to bits and pieces like a rabid dog, but honestly she could care less, "those stupid," *rip* "bloody," *shrtip* "blonde-headed, teases!"

She was trembling with pint up frustration. When the Malfoy males bought her from the auction she had expected a long night of constant 'pleasure the Masters' especially from the dismal look that Narcissa was giving everyone, Noooo! What Malfoy could be bothered to have sex with a freaking Mudblood! Draco had been so close to caving because of Hermione's show and the surprisingly sexy Dark Lord's taking of her, but Lucius had forbidden him. Growling from the needy ache that picturing the Dark Lord and Granger in the throes of passion brought out in her she tore into a mauve silk shirt, "Mudblood, let me in! What are you doing to my clothes?"

Howling she leapt at the door and began shoving the shredded pieces through the small crack at the base of the wood, "this, Master Lucius! Hope this is pleasing for you it's all a Mudblood knows how to do!"

His cry of rage and the enraged pounding on the door gave her a surge of satisfaction; of course, she knew she was in a world of hurt once the door came open, but that did not matter. They had teased her evilly last night and then tossed her away in humiliation because she was a Mudblood! Sneering at the door she noticed the shadow of Lucius kneeling just behind the wood; a glint of pure malice sparked across her irises as she heaved the huge tube of soapy water toward the door before flipping it over. His girlish cry made her dance around the room like a mad woman; the bright silken colors of her blonde-masters dancing gypsy behind her leaps and twirls, "AH did poor Master get all wet! Good thing it had soap in it! Why don't you ask your house elf to clean it up..oh wait you don't have one!"

The rooms went eerie silent before a loud boom broke down the door and both Malfoy males rushed her, knocking her back with their larger bodies, but she continued to thrash and yowl. The fight persisted for a while and none of the three wrestling occupants spared a glance to the young heavily breathing man standing in the door frame watching the hilarious scene. The two normally pristine-snobbish and always clean Malfoy heirs were rolling around in suds and dusted mud with a wild eyed, I-always-have-to-look-my-best, Lavender Brown, who happened to be wearing their shredded clothes as a type of ritualistic attire. Honestly, Neville would have rather returned to the castle and risked Voldemort's wrath than deal with the crazies rolling, grunting, growling, and howling on the floor.

"The Dark Lord requires your presence in the Great Hall, Malfoy Senior…" The three stopped and looked to the intruder; deer caught in head lights, "not sure how urgent, but, yea," silence hung in the air awkwardly as the three disheveled people watched him wide-eyed, "I'm…going back to the Castle now."

* * *

"Well that was insightful," Severus could tell that his facetious tone had finally snapped the red-headed-pain-in-his-arses' last vestige of verbal control.

Blazing red hair swung up in an arc of fire signaling the coming of those smoldering eyes as they landed squarely on; an acid snarl hot on their heels, "Actually, Mr. Know-It-All! It is!" His eyes narrowed at her mocking use of the name, and clearly satisfied with his reaction returned gentle eyes upon the frail bundle of bushy brown hair and soft snores.

A brief wash of emotional distress bubbled angrily from a lake of long ago misery as he remember similar eyes—not of the same color—looking upon another with that gentle stare, Always for another, those beautiful brilliant eyes staring fondly at another head of black hair, never for me, aching painfully he snapped back, "OH! And how so? Hmm, Ms Potter, do share this brilliant little epiphany only your insane mind can comprehend!"

Using her widowed name was wicked but those eyes hurt him so. Her gentleness stabbed his heart, wrenched it tightly in her little hands until he could not breathe. She did not flinch, wince, or cry at the blatant use of her widowed title; no, she did not even look up to him as she answered the question in toneless syllables, trying to not forget that head of messy black hair, why do I hurt her? "Remus, do you remember what Hermione did after the first time this happened?"

The man cautiously approached the bed, ever weary of the male on it holding the mentally exhausted and physically spent Hermione, "mmm, I believe she went on a research binge," his scared head tilted to the left like a curious puppy, sandy locks hanging over his eyes as he thought of the past so easily, I wonder if he remembers those eyes, "she was looking for something so tirelessly that she forgot to sleep, to eat even. But for the life of me I cannot remember what it was now."

"Vinca Minor," What! All eyes were on the young red head as she brushed away the sweaty locks of Hermione's hair to reveal a pale face, absent of her normal golden color and a stark contrast to the black robes beneath her, "Hermione was looking for this specific thing. It was all she could think of for days on end. She would constantly mutter the word possessed by the need to find its origin," frightened that freckled face looked up to the dark lord, "I became worried so I joined her when no one else would. I was scared that this was how it was trying to kill her, but eventually we found it in an old book on Roman Mythology. Vinca Minor, the flower born of fire on the slopes of Mt. Etna, one of three live volcanoes in Italy," a twinge in his soul rippled out through his limbs as Remus gave a low warning for the girls blatant emotion, but she ignored him, ignoring her training? "Once she read that little sentence she just stopped. When I asked why she had been so obsessed she would just look at me and shrug, confused herself and reply, 'it's not important right now, Gin, we have things to do, come on'," those soft fingers brushed against a pallid cheek gently, emotionally, "she never mentioned it again, it was like…well…like she forgot."

Hearing the sadness in her voice was killing him so he diverted the conversation to something more productive, "Mount Etna is one of the three sister volcanoes that the Roman's once integrated into their mythology of the gods," all eyes were on his except for the crimson pair watching Hermione's sleeping figure curiously, has he grown fond of her? Why isn't she some lifeless doll? Did he not go through with his plan? No, that is impossible, something else must have happened, "it was believed that a monster named Typhon, the father of all monsters and the most, deadly, was trapped beneath Etna by Zeus and is the reason for the eruptions from the mountains we call volcanoes."

"Do you think," those beautiful eyes centered in a glade of soft freckles look to him, causing his aching heart to clench inside his chest tighter, does she know how she tortures me so, "that whatever is controlling her, is," fear swamped her features, "is that thing?"

"Well, this is our only lead, and as much as I hate to subject Hermione to something far more dangerous, we need to get to the bottom of this," Remus was glaring at the stone floor as if it were to blame for all the trouble caused, "honestly, we should follow this lead and see if we find another or the answer."

"But…"

Ginny's soft voice was cut off by the commanding silk of his lord's words, "The Wolf is right, it is our only lead at the moment," red eyes aflame with excitement for the challenge ahead centered on him, "Severus, return to your potions quarters with Ms Potter and the Wolf, gather that artifact on your way and secure it. I would have the three of you prepare for a trip to Sicily. Also, send word to Rodolphus and Malfoy, senior I think, that they are to prepare for such a trip and meet us in the Great Hall. As for now, Hermione must rest," his attention was back on the young woman where a mumbled whisper slipped out absently, "I believe I may have pushed too much for today."

Ignoring the remark as he was meant to Severus bowed low before standing straight, "as you command, m'lord, come both of you."

"Wolf," all three paused at the door's frame, "I am postponing whatever punishment Fenrir has chosen for you until this has all been resolved," Remus flinched when the Dark Lord looked up at him, "please me and I may make better use of you, now go."

* * *

"Sicily!"

"Lavender!"

"Mudblood!'

Voldemort vaguely registered the Mudblood-Gypsy twirling mad-like around the cabin as a duo of blonde and red streaks chased after her, screaming; The Wolf and Severus standing on the side lines snarling and glaring at the ridiculous display before joining the fray in hopes of halting it. He was alert as always, but something else held his thoughts captive. The largest portion of his attention was centered on the slight figure tucked beneath his arm; pressed tightly to his side, not sleeping but clinging, her body tense and tired. He was disturbed when she gave no fight against his possessive-protectiveness, not even a snarky comment about how it was his fault to 'ward' him off or anger him. Even the combination of what she shared with him through their link about her vision and the quivering connection of fear, anxiousness, and confusion dancing around their bond was unsettling him.

But, more troubling was how sick she looked. The dark circles under her eyes were heavy and her flesh had almost reached his pallor. He hated how she was constantly pale around him; the golden tan she usually sported reminded him far more of her fiery personality, and just how much of a lioness she could be and…he missed it, miss it? Have I grown fond of this insufferable creature that has bound herself to me with full consciousness? Glancing down between his robes he glimpsed the dimmed light of honey peeking out from beneath heavy lashes, am I attached to you, little lioness?

"How are you holding up?"

For a moment, the question seemed directed at him, brusquely pulling Voldemort from his internal musing. But, looking up he found The Longbottom Boy, stare centered on His Witch, and he glared, "mmm, been better. I feel so," she buried her face into the heavy clothes under his arm, muffling out the rest of her words.

Of course the action did no more than amuse him, and bring a breathy laugh from the boy, "couldn't hear that, Mione. Wanna try again?"

She peeked her head out from the cloak and glared at the young man, humor sparkling in her mead colored eyes, "I said: I feel so…so pathetic," the sigh that dropped from her lips with the last word took all humor with it and she just seemed exhausted.

He could hear the frown in The Longbottom Boy's voice without having to look away from his weary charge, "that artifact is bad news, Mione, and I feel uneasy taking you wherever it is leading us," Voldemort looked up to the boy, who was now staring out of the window pensively, this cannot be the same Longbottom Boy Severus is always sneering about, "what if this is what it wants? I know…" suddenly frustrated green eyes centered on his ruby ones, "we need to get the dark magic out of her somehow, its killing her."

The sudden change in topic caught both occupants of the booth off guard, but after the initial shock His Witch rose to a sit, still plastered to his side by an arm, eyes ablaze with a weak flame, voice harsh, "Neville, I refuse to touch that block of metal again."

The Longbottom Boy did not even flinch, in fact, he moved closer definitely putting himself in clawing range, "that's not what I meant," he glared at her for a moment before glancing at the mass of wrestling and struggling bodies, rolling his eyes before looking back, "I hate seeing you so pale and vulnerable. It does you no honor at all! Whatever magic that, that thing put into you it is Dark, very Dark and it is eating at you," His Witch went to protest, "don't lie to me, Mione!"

What in the name of Merlin! This cannot be the same boy, the tension between the two increased ten-fold when Hermione snapped back, "it is nothing I cannot handle, Neville."

Frustration oozed off the young man and his eyes hardened to a leafy forest green before he leaped forward, placing his face inches from His Witch's, intriguing, but the words that came next plunged the cab into an ice bath of dead-silence, "Harry and Ron were not the only ones to pay attention to you, Hermione, when you needed it," her whole body was tensed and trembling, nostrils flaring, "Ginny did what was necessary when you went on your binge, followed you, helped you; Lavender, no matter how much she dislikes you, still watched you while you slept, making sure to wake you when the screams came; Luna stayed by your side when you studied, throwing frustrating nonsense at you when your eyes became glossed and you slipped away, pulling you back," her fists were clenched, anger, frustration, fear, and compassion swarming chaotically around their mind-link, "I made sure to watch you when they left; to remember every emotion that fluttered across your face until you stopped showing them, and when you stopped showing them I made it a goal to memorize you. Don't lie to me, Mione, the magic is eating you, breaking you down and you need help."

Rage and irritation filled him at The Longbottom Boy's words, but not toward the boy. Without a second thought he opened their link; flaring the chasm wide and diving into her body and mind searching out the truth of the words hanging heavily in the air. His magic sought hers with every intention of wrapping around the gentle thrum that was her, caging it, protecting it, but what he found brought his temper past its boiling point. The boy had been right, the Dwarven magic that had slipped into her was thrashing about with claws, teeth, and flames of the darkest magic he had ever felt, this is the power of the Dwarves. This rabid useless thing! Her core was barely holding on, flickering weakly and surging stubbornly forward trying to stop the invasion, how dare it touch her! No more time was spent pondering what he found; his magic sought out the beast-magic and ripped it limb from limb, tore out each sturdy scale and gutted its fiery innards till there was nothing left, not even a shadow of memory.

Her core was weak, I could…, he closed their link back to the appropriate level and withdrew slowly only to find His Witch quivering and gasping in his lap; nails dug tightly into the soft flesh at the nape of his neck and forehead pressed tightly to his own. He left a small portion of his own magic with hers, caging it, to ensure no more ignorance on his part as well as to help heal what damage was done, stubborn, insufferable creature! A crowd had gathered and the eccentric childish behaviors of the others had completely stopped in favor of coming to Hermione's aid, "I do not like the fact a boy had to bring that to my attention."

His voice was cold, deadly and very angry, but all Hermione could do was slump against him, breath, and…kiss my nose, "thank you," she whispered.


	8. Griffins and Shins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, ouch!

His cool forehead pressed to her own was bliss and she could not help but cling to his neck as she pecked the skin between his slit-nostrils, "thank you," his eyes were wide with shock and the look momentarily stole away his anger,  _I am getting used to this dumbfounded look of his_ , "Neville has grown accustomed to my stubborn-ness and actions over the past couple of years. BUT," she cut off his retort with a soft brush of lips on lips,  _very much like the look,_  quickly not wanting another fight; she did not want to deal with more nausea and exhaustion, "nothing would have been done about it if you were not here. Neville sounds like a big dog," she gave her mumbling friend a soft smile, "but he lacks the bite, and unfortunately I would not have shared my distress," she could not help but to press another chaste kiss to his non-existent nose,  _I would have figured it would be strange but the skin is so soft_.

"This has happened before?" His tone was cold and harsh; it burned her cheeks cherry,  _how could I forget whom I am with, for a moment he was just…a lover?_  Snapping out of her gentleness she recoiled, sitting back, her bum on his knees; arms folded neatly over her chest defensively,  _it shouldn't bother me so much_.

"The Carrows, my lord, found the Know-It-All to be most entertaining with her violent reactions to their favorite curses," she could practically feel Serverus's scowl and anger boring into her back, "and with her Gryffindoric-heroic-must-answer-all-questions attitude, it gave them plenty of opportunities to perform on her," the red eyes at her front bore into her with an air of reprimand, displaying the physicality of a hot-scolding-slap-on-the-wrist, worse than words or actions; her behavior, both past and present, were unwelcome,  _he has no right to judge me, to reprimand me for who I am_ , "it was the first time we discovered how dangerous the Cruciatus curse could be to one in Miss Granger's predicament."

She could feel the quiver of his knees as the silent growl of frustration rumbled up from his chest; the memory of him ripping her insides to shreds just to prove a point in the bath was still fresh,  _serves him right_ , "it was not as bad as the other day, but we did discover that the curses have a far more brutal consequence to my body. Madam Pomfrey was in hysterics. I barely remember it, though."

His hard-crimson stare never left her, making her self-imposed bindings cling tighter, harder,  _I wish he would stop_ , "anything else I should know for future references? Or are you just full of surprises?"

The words were meant to sting and she would be lying if she said they did not, so she did what she always did when hurt; drawing herself off of him swiftly she thumped into the opposite bench, determined to seem unfazed; her reaction was too quick for his fingers to catch. Frustrated, and more than a little exhausted she could not hide the acid sarcasm in her saccharine tone, "you know as much as I do, maybe if we're lucky we'll get to discover something new," a giddy bouncing on the seat cushion was a half-hearted attempt to belie her mockery.

The majority of the small group that had come along on the trip drew away from the tense couple. Voldemort's negative emotions towards her actions beating against her brain, and still she refused to look away from the window. Even the warm hand of Neville gripping her shoulder did nothing more than draw a smile to her lips, "your colors coming back. Tan is a way better look for you than pale, Mione," he was being lighthearted to try and dampen the thickness of the air, to avoid confrontation.

But instead it set fire to Voldemot's rage. A furious wave of Dark Magic, familiar, washed over her body and the overwhelming emotion that she experienced days before burst to life behind her eyes. Startled Hermione tore herself away from the window's view and turned; fangs exposed, body tense, and hood fully-out the Dark Lord advanced on a terrified Neville, who had no chance of living through the encounter. A subtle wave of a different emotion brushed across Hermione's side of the bond, if she had not been comparing Voldemort to a Cobra she would have missed it completely among the overwhelming rage,  _is he jealous?_  A squeal and Hermione snapped to. Terrified for her friend she pushed the thought away and went to stand when a violent movement outside the window caught the corner of her eye. Panicked and without a second thought she tackled Voldemort, catching his abdomen with her shoulder and sending them both tumbling to the ground in a heap of limbs and robes. Seconds later a blood curdling screech swallowed the silence, much like a bird, much like the black abyss she had been trapped in a day ago. The glass window shattered, someone screamed, and Hermione's world went black.

* * *

When she came to the room was dark and she could smell Voldemort on the sheets, the pillows. Upset still and refusing to allow herself a moment to enjoy the sent she stood and stretched, rubbing her temples slowly, trying to remove the resounding whistle buzzing about in her brain. His scent followed her and to her annoyance she noticed that her body was clad in his large white oxford shirt, ONLY his large white oxford shirt. Groaning and cursing her lousy luck the past,  _weeks? Days? Does it matter?_  She slowly put one foot in front of the other and made her way out into the brightly lit hall; through the empty compartments' windows night had fallen and if her guess was correct they were somewhere in Switzerland,  _I'm sure Voldemort wouldn't be up for stopping to taste the chocolate_.

She could feel a calm frustration from their link but nothing more and she prayed he did not decide to kill Neville in her absence,  _someone needs to learn the difference between 'oh what a good friend' and 'yea, I'd tap that'!_  Rubbing and rolling her tired eyes she stumbled down the hall in search of the large compartment where Mr.-My-Emotions-Are-Out-Of-Control-And-I'm-Bipolar and everyone else had been gathered earlier,  _hopefully they are still there_. Voices floating down from an average looking train compartment door lifted her spirits; she pushed the wooden blockade aside and stepped through the threshold. What she found was, well…irritating, enraging.

Every occupant was too preoccupied to notice her entrance but her eyes were centered on the Blonde Bombshell Bimbo straddling a certain Dark Lord; her red dress hiked up mid-thigh and dainty, aristocratic hands pressed against his chest. The pouty look on said Bimbo's lips increased the sickeningly fake innocent glow of what part of The Bimbo's face was visible, making Hermione bristle. The man being straddled seemed to be unabashed and unfazed by the beautiful woman sitting astride him; his hands resting lightly on hips. Hermione did not bother to keep her emotions in check as they brutally assault the link she shared with the furious I-Have-To-Be-A-Freaking-Playboy-Dark-Lord!

Ruby eyes snapped to her, an amused glint dancing around in their blood pools, setting her off; claws extended, teeth bared, and the fine ridge of hair running down her spine stood straight. Ready to make a snarling response she froze; familiar baby-blue eyes were watching her sweetly, innocently, mockingly, but she could not bring herself to muster back the fury,  _it cannot be_ , "I know you."

The Bimbo's eyes grew wide, startled by Hermione's declaration, "I am afraid, darling, I have never seen you in my life," a slight hint of Greek permeated her speech just like in her vision. Hazel eyes met crimson and she was prompted to continue,  _he knew too_ ; she desperately tried to ignore how The Bimbo's,  _according to me she still is_ , hands began to move up and down his chest, "mmm, powerful, I have never met a man soooo," a flutter of lusciously long eye lashes, a flash of seductive eyes, and a tongue rolling whisper against his cheek, "overpowering."

The growl of warning came involuntarily to Hermione and echoed about the room, but she did not bother to care,  _I am not Jealous! I just do not want the man who is determined to sleep with me sleeping with someone else, perfectly logical_ , something came to her, inspiration, and she could not control the mocking venom that oozed in her words, "I have seen you before, lover of France."

A flash of pain and the red dressed female leaped from the Dark Lord's lap as if stung, but instead of retreating she tore across the room toward Hermione, murder in her eyes, "how dare you!"

Of course, Hermione was not worried a bit, but that was before the Bimbo began to change. A shrill screech, like a birds—like her nightmare—permanently blared from her open mouth; the pink flesh contorting, hardening to something  _yellow_. The nails of each hand sharpened, grew, and thickened to black metallic looking talons and real fear settle into Hermione's gut,  _I wish I had a wand! What in Merlin's name is she!_  Feeling her flight or fight instincts kick in Hermione did the only thing her Gryffindor-bred mind would allow her to do; she grab Lucius's cane from the hanger and with a wild swing nailed the half-bird, half-woman, half-lion right in the face, dropping her,  _it,_  inches from bare feet.

"What in,  _Merlin's name_ , is that thing!"

Distantly she recognized the awkwardly deep yet shrill tone of Lucius Malfoy but her eyes were glued to the creature. Grotesque cracking and squelching signaled that it was not finished, and Hermione gripped the cold ebony metal of the staff tighter, brandishing the silver snake head above the distorted body. Feathers, black as coal, were sprouting, sickeningly, from her,  _its_ , back; shoulder blades grinding, shifting loudly, as strange pillars of hard ligament pushed past and out of fair skin. With wide eyes Hermione could see that the larger feathers were attached to the ligament and were spreading out to blanket the wooden floor while much smaller ones devoured the flesh of her,  _its_ , torso, neck and face. Fur, golden in color, sprung up where the feathers ended at her waist and covered the rest of her,  _its!_ , body right down to,  _paws?_ , and the thickly corded flame-tufted tipped tail; the forearms once soft and fleshy with no hint of being touched by sun were a steel-grey, rifled with lines down to clawed feet, and as hard as the beak covering her face. Ears tipped with black feathers were relaxed back against a patch of golden feathers adoring its crown. The Bimbo was, is... _a Griffin_.

Shifting robes caught the corner of her wide-wild-eyed stare; the flash of ivory flesh bringing back all of her pent-up emotions from moments ago and she did, in her opinion, 'the stupidest thing Hermione Jean Granger has ever done or will ever do in her life', and she could not care less. Black metal cane met black robed shin.

* * *

To say what he  _had_  witnessed was wickedly entertaining was a horrendous understatement,  _and sadly he would not have traded seeing it for a thousand muggle deaths, even now in the current situation_. Suddenly, his Lord's Little Mudblood went from being tensed and terrified, brandishing Lucius's cane at a Sexy Griffin Woman, to slamming the rod into his Lord's unguarded shin. Of course, the strike coupled with his Lord's undignified howl,  _which he would immediately forget and never mention again_ , made Rodolphus cringe; his Lord's Little Mudblood had just knocked that Sexy Griffin Woman out cold with one swing, and there was definitely some pint up frustration on the swing to his Lord's leg.

The whole scene went from his Lord removing the weight from his leg to backhanding the Mudblood right off her feet,  _which he thoroughly supported with a "make her head swim!"_ , to her kicking his other leg out from under him, making him wince for both of them as his Lord came down hard, landing half on the floor and half on the Little Mudblood; they made an awkward heap of black and white in front of the compartment door,  _his Lord's shirt had almost ridden up enough to give a nice view_; it escalated to snarling, biting, hitting, rolling,  _all of course the exciting part_ , and finally,  _a high pitched laugh later to horrify your torture victim_ , to a very intimate, very passionate, very awkward make-out session, _in front of the compartment door_. His Lord's Little Mudblood pinned beneath the black clad body of his Lord. Her arms, contained at the wrists by long fingered hands, stretched far above her head and their hips moving slowly against the others. The worse part, they were lying prostrate in front of the compartment door and no one, NO ONE, had the courage or stupidity to step over the Dark Lord as he ravished his woman.

Of course, Rodolphus was not opposed to watching his Lord claim is Little Mudblood again; the display had been extremely hot, but he had no desire to get in trouble for having the image branded permanently in his mind with a certain Lord, his Master, replaced by, well, himself,  _I like delivering death not accepting it_. A moan brought his attention back to the writhing couple. The Little Mudblood's hands were now shackled together while one of his Lord's devious hands slid provocatively down her arching sides,  _not good_ , his mouth went dry as a slender, olive leg was hoisted up and around followed by a particularly hard grinding of hips,  _very hot, very dead_ , spinning he scooped Luna up and carried her troll like to the corner, keeping his back to the passionate duo on the floor. There moans fueled his lust.

* * *

_I am not seeing this_ , close eyes, open eyes,  _no, no no,_ close eyes,  _just a nightmare_ , open eyes,  _NO!_  "M'Lord?"

Lucius cursed how squeaky and quiet his voice had become at the notion of disturbing his Lord from his 'task' with Potter's Mudblood. He even cursed the fact that Rodolphus and the Quibbler Girl were furiously making out against the far back wall of the compartment. The whole 'there is a Sexy Woman who had been straddling the Dark Lord and is now a Griffin lying knocked out on the compartment floor' went completely unnoticed. Feminine moans where chased around the room by purely masculine growls, bringing a flush to all occupants trapped inside the compartment. The Weaslette sported a brighter shade of her hair across her cheeks; his Mad-Hatter-Mudblood was drooling over the sight of his Lord grinding Potter's Mudblood into the wood floor; Severus and Neville were standing awkwardly next to one another, fiddling their hands nervously,  _Severus would be furious to find how similar he is to the boy_ ; Lupin was glaring… _glaring?_ A shout filled the room.

* * *

"HERMIONE!"

Everyone turned toward him; his body trembling in the last vestiges of constraint on his seething anger.  _They all are betraying their training! Ignoring it like the Order had not busted their butts to drill this into their brains!_  Lips were parted, panting, and bruised from the Alpha Male's,  _Dark Lord's_ , attentions. A dominate flush covered her skin but could not overcome the golden tan of her flesh that had returned with a vengeance. But what fed his anger were her eyes. Glistening molten gold stared up at him, sparkling with desire, need, want, adoration, and,  _could it be…love? No. Impossible._ She reminded him of Tonks in their last moments of passion before the final battle; before she was brutally ripped from him, and it tore his heart apart.  _She cannot care for that thing!_

Hermione's attention was on him but her mind, her body was locked on the Alpha Male,  _Dark Lord!,_  pressing down from atop her, keening for him to continue. He could smell it on her, on him; see how she arched up achingly toward her chosen Mate, who to his shock returned the sentiment with blazing blood eyes and heaving chest, but did they see,  _no, both, oblivious, lying_.  _He does not deserve those eyes, those caresses, that love. This will NOT continue!_  His thoughts boomed inside his head with such power and finality, but he was delusional to believe he could stop it. He was in denial.

"Yes." Breathless.

"You're failing," Cruel. He was Cruel, "Harry and Ron." Passion died and his heart clenched. He wanted to weep as her eyes glossed; teeth clamping down on a swollen lower lip to stop the pain. They had been her brothers; her best friends; her lifelines. Cruel.  _I have no choice. They are letting themselves go. Forgetting their mission. Forgetting those who died. It is not fair. They have to fight!_

Snarls were his only warning.


	9. Monster Inside of Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just raw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta cosettex, who I thank whole-heartily for her awesomeness, has had to put up with my crazy grammar and nonsense!
> 
> While writing this I listened to Monster by Skillet (you'll understand why and anything you recognize belongs to them.)

Four sets of eyes, empty, cold, and emotionless surrounded Remus. Ethereal lanterns brimming with the most terrifying hollow fury he had witnessed in ages _: this, this is their training? This THING that Remus begs them to remember and use?_

Severus looked on with confusion, a trickle of annoyance running down his spine,  _but I don't understand, why now, why not before?_  They bore down on the heartbroken man, merciless, uncaring,  _so detached from the world!_  Severus trembled as the atmosphere shifted, chilled; four blood-crazed lions approached the startled man, "how dare you!"

"You call her a failure when you," straight blonde locks of light flared out as Miss. Lovegood tossed her head in a snarl, meshing with the red hair of her companion as they crossed paths and igniting the air between them with fire, "broke down before ALL!"

"Tears stained your shirt as you begged!" Ginevra's fierce growl branded Remus: pathetic.

The two females were circling him, weaving in and out, shoulders edged forward, eyes bright, and lips parted. So akin to two lionesses prowling around their prey, that Severus fancied himself seeing bright white canines indenting their bottom lips, but quickly shook the illusion away,  _what has the Order done to you? I remember bright eyed witches, smiling and laughing! This cannot be! Now, so cold, so deadly._

"They tested our will to live!" Longbottom's voice was deep, stern, drawing the Potion Master's attention away from the deadly duo

_He is different. This CANNOT be the same boy I taught at school, the boy that chased a toad around, forgot everything, and blew up cauldrons_.

"Our ability to feel even when the ones we loved were gone! Our ability to rely on what we have left! You are so blind, Remus!"

Miss. Brown joined her female companions in circling Remus; her words most cruel and yet at the same time so full of merit.

"You failed when they showed you her dead body; it was a decoy to test your resolve, decoys to test all of our resolves, but you failed the test,  _professor_."

Severus noticed Remus recoil but the werewolf held his ground as the jab sunk deep.

_So much pain. It reminds me of…Lily._  Flashes of cradling the red-head's lifeless body slithered through the cracks in his mind's barriers. Pain's wicked grip caged his heart, squeezing mercilessly as he remembered rocking that limp body back and forth on the debris-strewn floor. His throat clenched tightly around a dry knot as he watched the scene play out: more flickering images of her grave burned into his retina. A sensation prickled behind his eyes, _I think…I think, I understand._

A vortex of blonde, red, and brown swiveled around the trembling man. His fists clenched tight, chest heaving, and eyes aflame with anger, misery, and  _regret?_

"Forgive me for not being able to let go of my love for the one woman who was my life! My EVERYTHING! Your training-"

"You know NOTHING about our training!"

The voice swirling around Remus was so powerful, so void of emotion, that Severus would have never known it was Ginevra speaking if he would've not been able to see her mouth moving, "we all cried, Remus! We all CRIED! Do you remember how it tore Hermione's heart out to see the two people in this world who stood by her side through everything, EVERYTHING, lying lifeless on that wooden floor? Do you remember? Her quiet sobs? All of our quiet sobs? Do you think we loved them less for staying composed, staying strong in the face of their deaths? For moving on!"

"You failed the training you volunteered for so readily." Longbottom passed through the female barrier without a scratch; nose pressed tip-to-tip with a heaving, scared man.

_Longbottom's no longer a boy, it seems, but he is different from the other three, still somewhat attached to this world of emotion_.

"You were banned from continuing because you were so ready to die if they took her from you! You failed the training because you did not know how to live without her, to see past her to everything else around you! YOU could not stand the pain of her death!" The eye of the storm swept in and settled as Longbottom's words faded from the air; the atmosphere relaxed and the women slowed their movements to a stop, "we finished, Remus. The five of us saw it through. When everyone else stepped out we kept going; we understood the point of the training. You did not understand back then, and you do not understand now."

_Yes, I understand now._

Ginevra stepped forward and Remus's startled eyes landed on her; her voice surprisingly gentle, but still detached, far away,

_How I adore you even more for what I know now_.

"Your place was among the graves, Remus, not among us. You -"

"Enough!" All eyes snapped to the Know-It-All leaning heavily against the black clad figure of a most curious Dark Lord. A red print from the back of the Dark Lord's large hand bruised her right cheek, "I will say it now, and all four of you would do well to remember! We chose our path, he chose his path, let him endure the pain as he wants. That. Is. Enough."

The Know-It-All's words, strong and full of life, were a command to all present, obliterating the tension and melting the ice in all four sets of eyes. Recoiling, they stepped away from Remus as if burnt, and looked toward Hermione sheepishly.

Severus did not miss how red eyes looked on impatiently, anxiously ready to question the scene but a stirring from the ground drew everyone's attention.

Baby blue eyes the color of the sky looked up through a curtain of blond to the glimmering, golden depths of the Know-It-All, "You're going to die."

Miss. Granger's neck arched suddenly with a pained groan and the young witch doubled over the Dark Lord's arm in agony. The slender ivory tip of his lord's wand rose up within seconds of the event and directed itself towards the Griffin Woman sprawled ungraciously on the wooden floor. "What have you done?"

_Fascinating,_  Severus suspected that to everyone else in the cabin, his actions were shockingly blase. All Death Eaters and most prisoners, however, knew of his 'you're keeping a secret, and I had better know what it is in the next two seconds or pain will become your best friend' response. On the other hand, what wasn't limited to the few, was the knowledge that the Dark Lord was never left in the dark over matters and coupled with the way he held the Know-It-All so haphazardly on one arm, it served to strengthen his image as uncaring for anything but answers.

To Severus, however, the Dark Lord's actions were possessive, protective, furious, and possibly something more, something he had never seen his lord express towards any human. Such 'affection' was reserved for things like his lord's wand or Nagini, his familiar, who was the only living thing Severus has ever seen touch the Dark Lord,  _or be touched back for that matter._  Examples were few and far between, but they were there; however, he'd never seen what he observed with the insufferable Know-It-All.  _What have you done to make him respond this way, Granger? What game are you playing?_

"Oh, you will find out soon enough," the Griffin woman purred, her eyes ablaze with beast-like intensity, "she has such a  _delicious_  response to the magic inside her body, doesn't she?"

"I destroyed  _that_  foul magic before your arrival."

The agonized groan floating up from the limp body on his lord's arm seem to contradict the latter.

"Oh, yes, you destroyed the  _threatening_  magic," she slid to her knees never taking her eyes off the Dark Lord, "the magic that deliberately wants to destroy her, but not the  _significant_  source still bubbling deep inside her."

_Trying to seduce a snake . . . unwise,_  Severus mused.

The Griffin Woman slowly rose, all sensual curves and seductive hips, grinning hungrily up into the crimson eyes burning with rage.

" _Crucio_!"

No screams followed. The cruelly innocent, seductress grin still marred that wickedly beautiful face, but his lord never flinched. "Tsk, tsk, you will understand all in due time,  _Lord Voldemort_ ," she sauntered forward, licking her lips slowly, placing petite hands on a heaving chest.

Severus chuckled internally, _oh, someone is looking to get burned. This man knows the game you are playing far better than you ever will_.

"Why bother with such a pathetic creature, so weak and disgusting when you could have," she slid closer to his frame, her palms hovering intimately over the Dark Lord's chest, "so much more, something far better."

_Dear, you will regret this_. Severus tried to fight off the exciting anticipation of the Dark Lord's inevitable strike.

"Are you suggesting," the sweet charm of the young man his lord once was, seeped out between the syllables like a siren's deceptive song, "yourself?"

"Mmm." The Griffin Woman's blue eyes sparkled in delight, trailing after her ascending hands as they moved up towards the Dark Lord's collar. The distraction cost her dearly; red eyes flashed, sentencing his prey to death after endless torture, "yes, yes I am."

"Back,"  _gasp_ , "off! Griffo!"

The Griffin Woman screeched and drew back, snatching a handful of wild brown curls up in a clawed hand and wrenching Hermione's neck up painfully.

_Wrong move_.

The resounding crack of knuckles meeting flesh and bone preceded the woman's back colliding with the floor; eyes pure, glistening lakes trembling with pain as she stared wide eyed at the man who struck her.

"Never,  _ever_ , touch her."

Anger crossed the foreign woman's features before they slid into a distorted expression of wicked delight, her lips almost pouty. "Oops."

The Know-It-All's body snapped up and tensed up in a rigid line as an agonized scream forced its way past her tightly pressed lips and then she dropped. Miss. Granger's arms swayed, mimicking the pendulum of an old clock while the sound of her nails scratching the floor filled the silence as she oscillated back and forth on the Dark Lord's arms.

His master's face was downcast, directed in a way so that his lord appeared to be watching the motion; the top of the hairless cranium the only thing visible.

Severus physically felt Rodolphus withdraw, slinking back slowly to the farthest corner of the compartment with Lucius in tow. The synapses in Severus's brain were firing off warnings to get far away, but he settled for quickly drawing Ginevra into the protection of his frame. His trembling hands silently warning her to not make a sound as they walked backward toward the other two terrified Death Eaters. Gradually, he lowered himself to one knee, cradling the wide eyed, scared, and confused girl against his chest. Severus vaguely registered Rodolphus doing the same with Miss. Lovegood, but forced his attention forward to the bent head of the Dark Lord.  _Death is at the doorstep._

Remus, with all the senses of a wolf, was quaking. Sweat dotting the man's flesh in opaque droplets of salt and water as his trembling knees buckled beneath him until he lay prostrate not far from the Dark Lord's dragonhide boots; the werewolf's fists clenching and unclenching as his nose flared to take in the warning scent in the air.

At the center of the room the Griffin woman was grinning triumphantly, so stupidly proud and oblivious to the wrath that had been unleashed. Severus could not find the pity or courage to warn her. Swiftly, the terror was upon them and it was hard to breath. There was a thickness similar to humidity, but pulsing with a dark and deadly aura. Severus bowed forward, never taking his eyes from the imposing figure of his lord as he pressed a compliant redhead farther down to the wood floor. Her soft whimper momentarily took his attention; she could feel the danger they were all in. His lord had a temper, everyone was aware of it, but only a select few were aware of what he actually hid beneath the surface.

"Do we get to see how  _bad_ a man you are?" Sugary sweet mockery coated the Griffin woman's voice.

Severus looked up sharply and prayed to the heavens to save them.  _Stupid woman, pray for a quick death._

"Man?" The grinning woman recoiled back from his lord, her expression falling for the voice was inhuman in auditory texture, a low rumbled growl. The Dark Lord's head rose slowly, neck strained, giving the impression of being resisted by an invisible force. Ink black pupils had consumed the crimson irises, devouring the whites of his lord's eyes; the voids gleaming with beastly joy. Ancient magic radiated from Voldemort's body in burning waves, whirling the mass of black robes about his impressive frame. "I feel more like a monster."

Remus's whimpers increased in pitch, but those onyx eyes had only one prey in mind. Severus imagined Death in all his glory stood before them and there was nothing that would stop him. The Griffin woman was frightened, finally aware, it seemed, that she was trapped within the spell of those fathomless predator eyes.

_Too late_.

"W-what are you?"

Sharp, perfectly white teeth flashed into a Cheshire grin. "The Dark Lord," pulsing waves picked up in ferocity sweeping around the room in a gale, "let me demonstrate."

Screams, feral and bird-like bombarded Severus's ears threatening to shatter the fragile eardrums. The Griffin woman was writhing, screaming in pure agony on the floor of the train. The previously repaired window shattered, shards melting and vanishing as they connected with the magic in the room. Severus could not tear his eyes from the woman seizuring roughly, the loud slapping of her flesh reverberating through the floor: a bloody fish out of water. Cuts, invisible claws raked over her unblemished flesh only to be followed by the quick knitting together of the same tear. This happened repeatedly across all areas of her body, her flood of tears lost amongst the feathers randomly coating her face. One taloned hand gouged out the wooden floor while the other bled from broken and raised nails.

"Tell me about this  _predicament_  we are in and the pain will stop." The grin was broad, cheek splitting and those eyes,  _those eyes!_  Drank in the agony of the woman screaming her lungs out on the bloodied floor. Severus new his lord was playing with the woman and would only let up the torture enough for her to speak.

"Mount Vesuvius must be your first stop!"

Surprise welled up in Severus's chest, a similar emotion reflecting in the ebony depths of his lord. The torment stopped, but the promise of a repeated demonstration hung precariously in the air.

"Why?"

"The Ancient Dwarves made three kingdoms: Mount Vesuvius, Mount Stromboli, and Mount Etna. Mount Etna is the capital, the Drakka's domain, and is protected by the other two. The only way to get access to this citadel is with heavily guarded artifacts, similar to the one you possess, found within the other two sister volcanoes."

"How can you control the magic inside my witch?"

The Griffin woman did not bother moving from her undignified sprawl. "I cannot control it, but I can affect it. We, as in Hermione, the artifact, the magic, and I, are all connected. Unfortunately, I can say no more on that subject," the Griffin woman must have felt his anger, "I do not wish to hold information from you, especially after that  _display_ ," a lump riding down her bent neck gave her fear away, "but I truly cannot for fear of jeopardizing Hermione's life. Things must go accordingly or she  _will_  die."

"Accordingly?"

Sad baby-blues looked toward the monster still holding the unconscious witch.

"Yes. Accordingly. Everything has been planned long ago and the magic binds us, Hermione and I, to following out the story as it has been written," she paused to gather air into her lungs as her fingers began to heal, "I am your guide and as you progress through the pages I will give you the information appropriate for each chapter. I do not lie when I say her," the Griffin woman nodded toward the Know-It-All and his lord's onyx eyes followed, "life depends on the story going as planned. As well as discovering the Dwarves once more."

Severus watched his lord's onyx pools, barely visible from this angle, skip through a series of emotions: Rage to frustration to loathing and then, as those dark orbs took in the Know-It-All draped over his black clothed arm, resigned irritation. Red slowly ate away some of the black cancer and the power drew back to wrap closely around the Dark Lord's frame: the monster was calmed, but not put away.  _I wonder what reaction Hermione would have on his inner beast?_

"Very well, you are not to be contained; however, if you betray me or if she is injured, I will find you and kill you."

She nodded her head furiously. The blond locks flapping up and down ridiculously. "Forgive me in my treacherous ways. I have been a beast for a long time and forgotten what humanity is."

Her words were either unheard or ignored because the Dark Lord swept out of the room without a sound.

* * *

Once again Hermione Granger was allowed to return to the land of conscious folks. The soft feel of sheets running along her front,  _why am I always in a stupid bed…Mmm, but I do feel good…._  A soft pulsing magic, soothing and warm was cocooning her body: embracing her bare skin in a lukewarm bath of safety.  _I feel…no one in this world can hurt me. Not that crazy Griffin Bimbo. Not even that stupid chunk of metal_. Surprisingly, coupled with the fresh scent of her very own Dark Lord made things all the better. Smiling softly, she snuggled back into the masculine body pressed tightly to her back; a gentle press back was the comforting, yet possessive response. The way his longer, heavier body pressed her into the soft bed only increased her joy of being safe and away from the insane happenings of the last couple days, but it also seemed to snap something inside of her.

Truthfully, she was close to tears with the events.  _Nope, more like IN tears_ , the pillow cradling her face was damp and getting more so by the second as the uncontrollable rivers flowed. She could not contain it, no amount of training would reign in the steady flood; something inside her was making it impossible to control the emotions and honestly she did not care at the moment. Voldemort must have felt her distress because the next thing she knew her face was buried in the crook of his neck; her arms and legs instinctively wrapping around him as her bum rested on the thighs of his semi crossed legs. Long fingered hands stroked through her hair and down her back, and the magic swam over her skin gently, soothing her better than anything else.

After a while, she was finally able to regain some composure and drew back to look at him,  _he is being strangely comforting and quiet. Not that I'm complaining_. When Hermione looked up to the man holding her so carefully, she could not contain the gasp. Once pure crimson, his eyes had bleedings of black veins running chaotically through the irises. Suddenly, as if blind before, she could feel the ancient, deadly magic thrumming through the warmth that was still embracing her; his stoic face cradled between her palms.

"What…"

His lips were on hers; they were desperate, hungry, tongue stealing into her mouth and taking over. Strong arms, muscles trembling with contained need, forced her flush to his naked skin as he ravaged her mouth. She clung to his shoulders terrified by his eyes, the magic, and his strange mood. His hands did not rove over her body, and the iron bindings of his arms held her tightly in place, caging his full erection between them.  _He_ 's  _so_   _quiet_. Startled, it finally occurred to Hermione that he was keeping himself from taking her. Lord Voldemort did  _not_  hold back on what he wanted,  _what is wrong with him!_  The growls rumbling up from his chest, vibrating through the column of his throat to their mouths, were far more feral than usual, and she fought down the tremble of fear.

Hermione pulled away as he mercilessly attacked her neck: licking, sucking, and biting. The moan was out before she could stop it, and his body moved quickly, but stopped. Confused, she felt him move forward again, attempting to grind their bodies together before he put a stop to it again: he needed release, but was fighting his desire for her. The aura around them pulsed: raw and caressing, a desperate brush of emotions across their mind link and,  _oh._

She finally understood what was going on. He was raw, a rare occurrence for any wizard or witch, but possible. He was using his core magic,  _The Inner_ , the ancient part of us all that can only be utilized by the few. Dragons, chimera, and manticore, to name three, are born using this pure monstrous energy, hence their more feral territorial nature. Only a few humans could successfully tap into, and tame such raw power; in fact, Hermione had a belief that Albus Dumbledore did but never used it. Merlin and Helga Hufflepuff were two she knew of from intense digging in some restricted history books. Merlin of course had perfect control. Helga compensated for her inner monster with being overly jovial and never letting the beast out which explained her generosity.

The Dark Lord; however, was only in partial control, seeming to be at war with it,  _Voldemort does not worry about hurting, but is he worried he will hurt me?_ To be honest Hermione was very worried he would. A jerk forward followed by a stall brought her from her musings; he drew her lower half tighter to his frame in a desperate attempt to restrain himself more. His flat face was pressed tightly against her neck, hot air blowing against her flesh as he panted; he trembled from the sheer power to control himself.

"It's ok," her own words startled her but she mentally brushed it off,  _something's wrong._

"You do not," his magic pulsed again and a terrifying growl shook her body, "know what you ask," his voice was hoarse, deadly, still so inhuman, but all the same Voldemort, and knowing that knowledge comforted her more than what was happening.

"I do somewhat," she wrestled to bring his head up from her neck to look at him; his eyes were feverish, heady with lust, "and for some strange ludicrous reason, I know you won't hurt me," a pause between them before she winced, "or, well, do permanent damage at least."

He continued to watch her, nostrils flaring out before he spun. Pressing his right palm between her breasts, keeping one arm hooked at her lower back, he pushed her shoulder blades to the pillow; her legs resting crossed over his back. She was fully arched backwards and with a shift and a thrust he was inside her; with no chance to adjust he was moving again, pounding. Luckily, his earlier ministrations had aroused her enough for his entrance, but having only had sex four times before with the same man made this tough.

Her teeth bit sharply into her bottom lip and her smaller hands wrapped tightly around the wrist connected to the palm holding her down. It hurt, but she refused to push him away, and she made sure to keep her emotions away from their link.  _I need to hold out. He was in so much need. It was almost life or death_. His back was bent, face pressed to the bicep of his right arm, contorted in pleasure, as his hips pistoned back and forth quickly. She cringed and threw her head back;  _I will not let him see my tears. You can do this, Hermione._  His palm pressed harder, but the arm at her lower back pulled up forcing her body to arch even more; her back ached with the strain. He not only slid deeper but the more he pressed down on his palm the more he bent forward and the harder his hips slammed into hers. She tasted the coppery ting of her blood, and could feel the cool tears running across her temples to her hair, _it hurts so much_. She was very much aroused by his domineering behavior and how he took control over her body, but she was not experienced enough for this.

Her tears were flowing in earnest and her lip hurt something awful by the time his body tensed and his hips snapped forward one last time; she held strong as he came. He slumped forward, jarring her body, and this time she could not contain the whimper of pain that escaped. She felt as well as heard his head snap up at the noise and mentally cursed herself for the slip at the same time he let a creative hiss out. He was slowly lowering their bodies to the mattress, but before she could open her eyes to look up at him his face was once more pressed into her neck. One of his hands was between them stroking her.

Hermione could not stop the moan anymore than she could the whimper and he increased the tempo of his fingers. She gasped loudly and tried to remove him from her throat, needing to see him, but he refused and continued his ministrations. A sudden twinge at her heart and the overwhelming feeling of being used washed over her senses.  _No!_ She pushed hard against him, ignoring her protesting body. "Stop!"

He froze; the raw magic still pulsing dangerously around them, yet it posed no threat to her.  _So much control_.

She brusquely removed his arm and pushed at him harder to dislodge his face; however, when he finally went to remove himself completely, she clamped her legs tightly in reaction. Of course, she succeeded in not only stopping him but also setting off the pain in her lower body. She cried out momentarily losing all her senses, and when she came around, his face was hovering above her own even though her legs were limp on the mattress.  _I want Voldemort back_.

"I'm not a doll, look at me." The way he was acting unsettled her.

Confusion flashed across their link.

"Mine," careful of her body, he brought his head down for a kiss before guiding his hand back between them. As he worked her, his hips began to move slowly in time with each stroke. It still hurt, but the pleasure and his strange behavior fought down her need to stop him; instead she stroked the back of his neck and shoulders in encouragement. When she came he followed, and he let his weight rest on her, the overly soft mattress cushioning the effect as she rested her chin on his shoulder; her hands stroking up and down his back mimicking his soothing actions from earlier. A sudden shift in his raw magic let her know that he was back to himself, and the statement that followed made the experience worth all the pain, "I wanted to kill all of them. Not just the Griffin, but every single one of them," a long-fingered hand ran through her hair, "Rodolphus had stray images of him taking you as I would; The Wolf's anger posed a threat to you; Lucius's constant reference of you  _belonging_  to Potter; The Longbottom Boy's worry for you; Severus's desire to protect  _you_ ; The Mudblood-Gypsy's hate for  _you_ ; Mrs. Potter's and The-Dream-Induced-One's confusion toward  _you_ ," he breathed in her hair, " _you_ ,  _you_ ,  _you_. I had to mark you, feel you; it was either kill every single one of them or take you hard, rough, and without mercy."

"You were trying to do neither one of them," she was drawing random pictures on his back, something she always liked her mother to do.

"Mmm, I like being in control and as much as I enjoy taking you, my innocent, I would have torn you apart with how raw and unstable I was," he stroked her side with his free hand reassuringly, "giving me permission like you did was dangerous, but enough to soothe my need to brutally show you who you belong to," he paused and raised himself up on his elbows; his eyes still crimson and black, "you are no doll, you're my lioness."

She rolled her eyes and tried to fight down the red-hot blush. "Bestiality? Not my thing," she smiled at his glare, "you are always going to ignore the simple fact that not  _all_ of me is in your possession, aren't you?"

He growled, feral, and the magic around him thickened with anger, but she felt no threat still, _odd_ ; so, she smiled cockily up at him. He glared before blowing a puff of air across her lips: a tingling, and then her lip was healed. A 'thank you' was on the way to her lips when he kissed her roughly, and pulled away. "How badly did I hurt you; I was more than a little distracted."

She winced at the memory and looked away from those eyes; potion calloused fingers stroked up her cheek to wipe away the moist trails across her temple. "It hurt a lot, but I'm okay." Heat burst up her legs like a quickly rising tide and wrapped around her center, making her gasp in shock. The warmth increased and the tingling that had healed her lips was doing wonders to the painful ache at the apex of her legs; his growl was more disappointed and frustrated than angry.

"Tell me when you are hurt."

"Sorry," she meant it, she really did, "old habits and all."

"What was your training?"

The question caught her off guard, and suddenly she was nervous. Lying to him while he was in this condition could be detrimental to her health. "Uhm, well, this is awkward," his eyes narrowed but she ignored it, trying to figure out how to have him understand without understanding, "well, the order, or really Dumbledore, he….hmm, this is hard."

His head cocked to the side and a non-existent eyebrow shot up, "what was it?"

Her lip found its way back between her teeth but she only worried it, "well, plainly speaking, our training was to…well…live."

"What?" The space above his slit nostrils, between his eyes, knitted together and she could not help but rub it back to a smooth plane,  _I'm too comfortable with this man._

"Dumbledore broke the news that he believed we would lose," she liked how he listened without interrupting her explanations,  _minus the cocky smirk he's sporting,_  "he suggested we have a…second, unexpected group of soldiers to survive the war and, well, go on living, fighting, and all."

The smirk had fallen during her explanation, and he had removed her hand with narrowed eyes. "So, your master plan was to bind yourself to me, get all buddy-buddy and what? Stab me in the back!"

_Like he has a right to be mad!_ "No, no stabbing and I definitely would not call this," she flapped her free hand between them, "buddy-buddy," she frowned at his seething features, which were intensified by those eyes, "those were the words he used to everyone while we sat at the table. The concept was more for morale than anything else. Twelve of us volunteered; the five of us, well, survived."

"And?"

She huffed at him and rolled her eyes, "that's it. The big secret of our training was survival. Sometimes, I think only Neville understands the point but nonetheless, that is it," he was still glaring so she sighed; she hated delving into the emotional part of their training. Hermione looked out into the room, "everyone was ready to die. Everyone. You could visibly see the words 'I'll follow you into Death' floating around the room. It was, for lack of better word, upsetting," soft honey met strange black and red, _I do not like them_! "Twelve of us fancied surviving no matter what toll the war took, no matter who we lost and only five of us…could. Our training: live with the loss and keep going. In truth, no one wants to be without their loved ones; it's hard sometimes especially when someone throws it in your face."

A murderous glint sparked to life in his eyes, but Hermione's small hands were covering them before he could speak. "What are you doing?"

"I really, really do not like your eyes. Please, make them go back?"

He gripped her wrists and pulled them away from his face all the while shaking his head, "Not without leashing my magic and it is in my best interest not to," she could not stop the frown even after he pecked her on the lips, "hmm, let me get this straight, I have somehow gotten myself stuck with an insufferable,  _surviving_ , stubborn, stubborn, lioness, who likes to play games with my temper, and throw up when she comes in contact with my magic?" A deep red made siege to her face and an incoherent mumble slipped past her lips,  _jerk_ , "there is something you aren't telling me, though. I shall let it slide for now."

Groaning she laid her head back on the pillow and rolled her eyes, fingers still dancing across his back. "Oh, thank you, mighty one."

"My raw magic has a thing for you."

Startled she looked up,  _where does he get these mood swings!_  Her glare morphed into a wide set grin followed by a wink as she continued to draw, "hmm, that explains why I don't feel threatened. I like it," she was serious again, "but not the eyes."

He nodded, fighting back the smirk, before frowning, "Did you just draw a kitten on my back?"

"Yep, I have a theory that if I draw enough cute, adorable animals on your back you might turn into one," she was attempting to bring the conversation away from touchy subjects like her training and what she was hiding or things that sent him into a murderous mood or a very dominating one. For some reason, he was refusing to leash his magic and Hermione did not feel like arguing. She felt safe for the moment.

"You have drawn that same kitten ten times already," his voice was dry, but slightly amused, and she took it as a good sign.

Her eyes sparkled, and she pouted at the Dark Lord, mockingly mimicking the blonde bimbo perfectly, "I miss Crookshanks."

Rolling his eyes, large hands captured hers and brought them away from his back before she was rolled to her side and tucked against him. "Tomorrow morning, I will fill you in on what happened during your blackouts. With my magic as it is, you would do well to stay close and away from every male on this train," she responded with a very un-lady like grunt of acknowledgment, "go to sleep, my innocent."

Hermione's mouth stretched into a wide, sleepy yawn before she placed a soft kiss to his chest.

"We should have tried the chocolate," she whispered before settling into sleep. The strange way the Dark Lord rubbed the flesh above his heart and the bewildered expression on his face went unnoticed by the young lioness.


	10. Internal Musings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lots of thinking and a cursed land

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to cosettex for her Beta! :D :D  
> Update! :D Please enjoy and do leave some lovely reviews. Things are getting more plot heavy!

Hermione sat carelessly on the disheveled bed; the emerald sheets mussed-up around her haphazardly tangled legs. Shadows, spawn from the flames in the hearth, flitted across her stoic face, blinking back and forth over abstracted honey-hazel eyes.

The information Voldemort had shared with her, moments, maybe hours ago  _\- how long have I been sitting here? -_  weighed heavily on her mind. The unfortunate run in with the artifact had initiated a series of events that she, Hermione Jean Granger, was now intricately a part of. Grifo, the gryphon woman from her vision at Hogwarts, was real and a key part to the demented dream.  _A guide through the fable, but why and more importantly, who is she really?_  What scared Hermione the most though was that if Grifo was real, then so was the rest of her vision: the strange occurrence between Grifo, the artifact, and the powerful Drakka, Thogrand, had all really transpired.

_But when? Why did it even occur? What do I have to do with it? So many questions still unanswered!_

Every part of the affair frightened Hermione to a strange new level and it was no reassurance that her plan concerning Voldemort had failed almost from the very beginning,  _and is currently on a crash course landing_. Voldemort 'owned' more of her than she could afford at such an early stage of her design and at the present point in time, what he did not own was slowly becoming his.  _Last night's interaction was testament enough to how much he affects me, and what would I gain from pretending I don't care about him to some extent?_

A frown shattered Hermione's sober mask,  _it's too early for this to happen!_  The barrage of life-threatening occurrences had left her in a state of vulnerable distress and no matter how much she tried to fight it, Voldemort was her rock. The Dark Lord was always there to either mock her or hold her and it was driving her insane. His very presence was the most stable part of her life, and it terrified her to a phenomenal degree. When he was gone, albeit that rarely happened, she physically ached for his company and hated herself for it. Yet no matter what her logic screamed, she could not fight the overwhelming emotions for the man who killed her brothers, her friends, and her family.

Smiling sadly at the thought, Hermione couldn't help but to remember something Harry had told her when they found out about Charlie's confession of love for a converted female Death Eater. She could picture his messy raven hair, sparkling green eyes and loving face, a big 'I know something, Hermione Granger doesn't know' kind of smile spread across it brandishing bright white teeth. The one that always made her laugh and now made her cry.

" _Hermione, love does not care who you are or what time of the day it is. We cannot control our attractions to certain people no matter who they are, what they've done, or where they come from," he would chuckle here and flick her gently on the nose, softening her stern expression, "worst AND best part, 'Mione, is that it is foolish to ignore it because it won't go away no matter how much you wish it." Then Ron would thunder into their moment with a wild grin and laughing blue eyes._

Their phantom laughs floated around the quiet room, making her clench the bed sheets below her.  _I miss them so much._  Tears clouded her vision, but she rapidly blinked them away. Harry's words had done little to reassure her back then, but now, she knew, without a doubt in her mind that he was right. One could attempt to take themselves out of the equation forever, to run like a convict from the law, but even then, love would come to collect the rest of the sentence. _But, no, it is not love. I feel affection, care_.  _I have not fallen for him completely…not yet_.

Yes, The Brains of the Golden Trio, Potter's Mudblood, The Gryffindor Princess, had, in the end, expected to lose all of herself to him, Lord Voldemort in exchange for bettering the new world. She had formulated the plan a week before her return to Hogwarts. The second day, after the Order requested she 'shed' her innocence, Severus approached her.

_I had never seen the man blush before that day_.

They had argued heatedly for hours, and he, like a broken record player, had continuously shouted at her Voldemort's plan for her. That night Hermione had used Severus's information to formulate her own plan. From then on, every waking hour up to the final battle was spent in perfecting that plan: get under Lord Voldemort's skin and become something more than a trophy. Hermione Granger would work to earn a voice in the new world and influence it without the violence and bloodshed.

But now, the distressing part of the whole affair: Hermione was unsure of how much  _she_ , as a human being, a woman, affected Voldemort. The point of her plan, her mission, was to influence the treatment of this new world he ruled. A game that involved heart, mind, and magic empowered by the body and soul; it would be soft power, and until she was certain that Voldemort valued,  _even considered_ , her opinion, she would not give up that last essence of her being or even admit to losing it.

Sighing, Hermione clenched the cuffs of Voldemort's white shirt before aggressively rubbing her eyes with each fist. Her head thumped against the compartment wall, and she growled in frustration at the ceiling while she remembered the day she first spoke of her plan to Albus Dumbledore.

***

_She felt his weight settle down beside her on the aged and weathered couch, but he did not speak. Crickets, somewhere near the porches' edge, continued to chirp in and out of sync; in the distance, an owl hooted at extended intervals. The oak porch creaked loudly with age, and a soft breeze rustled the foliage until the long blades of grass whistled and the leaves puttered like baseball cards locked in the spokes of a bike wheel. She refused to break the sedating ambiance and apparently so had Albus, for all too soon, twilight broke through the horizon painting a distinct line of amethyst where the heavens met the earth and with it the last conversation between Albus Dumbledore and Hermione Granger began. His voice was rough and sorrowful as he commenced with the familiar parody of a pledge only she, Neville, Ginny, Lavender and Luna were privileged to hear._

_"Will it hurt?"_

_"Most definitely."_

_"Will you heal?"_

_"In time."_

_"Will you face each day?"_

_"Stronger every sunrise."_

_"Will you survive, Hermione?"_

_"Yes."_

_The silence settled once more like the morning mist draping over the far countryside. Clouds in the distant sky slowly fizzled away as the sun tiredly clambered up from its resting place, its light not yet intense enough to dispel all of the night._

_"Do you have a plan, Hermione?"_

_"Yes, foolish, but yes. Severus has unknowingly aided me."_

_"Tom will seek to attain you. The last hope."_

_"He will succeed. I am banking on it."_

_"Love is beyond him."_

_"Maybe, but I am not looking for it in return." She felt his eyes upon her, an intense stare that Hermione did not return. Like fingers she felt those blue eyes trace over her face, searching for something, but for what she did not know._

_"The Order is desperate for morale. Will you play your part?"_

_"I will keep the emotionless façade up and express my mental ability to fight when they are gone."_

_Another pause, the very nature of it tensed and strained unlike the previous ones before._

_"What is your plan, Hermione?"_

_Finally, she turned and met that soft twinkle-less gaze. A silent need screamed out at her from those blue sapphires; so, relying on instinct alone, she took his hand and clenched tightly. "To make the new world better through influence and not bloodshed. To be their shield, Albus."_

_The sun rose fully in all of its burning glory, spreading light and warmth over the two war torn individuals: an old veteran, ready for his time to end while selfishly accepting the comfort and forgiveness of the young woman who would sacrifice everything._

***

Before she and Albus parted for good, he had left her with a most helpful book:  _Manipulating Memory Volume II: Control, Command, and Containment._ "

The author's name had been scraped clean from the cover, leaving a rough texture that she absentmindedly stroked when reading.

*Knock* *Knock*

_Well that surely isn't Voldemort_. "Yes?"

"It's Ginny, 'Mione. Lavender and Luna are with me."

"Come in." Hermione observed the small group shuffle into the room through her peripherals, their images growing steadily less abstract as they maneuvered toward the furniture situated before the fire. Once fully in her line of vision, Hermione noted how Ginny and Luna shifted their chosen seats around to face her while Lavender plopped down unceremoniously in an armchair. The atmosphere clinging to each of the girls was comparatively different and set Hermione on edge,  _something tells me this conversation is not going to go well._  Luckily, the seating arrangement did not obscure the fire's light from reaching her companions' faces an action which allowed Hermione to read them effortlessly.

Lavender, as usual, relied on her mask of indifference when in Hermione's presence: the relationship between herself and the dirty-blonde was considerably strained and always would be. Lavender defending her last night was out of a semblance of duty rather than friendship. Closest to Lavender sat Luna who seemed content to sit and stare mystified at a rather vigorously dancing shadow on the sheets of the bed while Ginny, sitting across from her, watched with an air of cool detachment. Curiously though, Hermione could see a desperate need hidden in Ginny's chestnut depths, and she had no doubt that the need was to express something verbally to a trusted friend.

"New plan, grinding the Dark Lord into submission? Maybe you should spread your legs wider."

Lavender's brassy personality always served to irritate Hermione and this time was no different, but she refrained from responding. She knew that some, if not all of her four friends would have something to say about her—tactics.

"Ignore her, 'Mione." Ginny's mumble was accompanied by a painfully exaggerated eye-roll. "Lav is just mad because the Dark Lord pretty much ravished you on the train compartment floor, and the Malfoys could care less how wide she spreads her legs for them."

_Well this is uncomfortable._

A fiery glare rounded on Ginny as Lavender rose from her seat with a snarl. From the looks of things, the dirty-blonde was trying to set the whole area occupied by the red-head aflame with her eyes.

"I bet that's awkward," Luna spoke up but was occupied with trying to catch the shadow jumping back and forth on the armrest of her chair; she reminded Hermione of a lazy cat. "Spreading your legs wider and wider would surely give you a cramp. I would do Yoga instead!"

Hermione's eyes lit up with amusement and a strange fondness for the blonde. Luna was completely oblivious to the furious glare Lavender sent her way. Annoyed but wanting to avoid a full out conflict, Hermione ignored Lavender's jab and spoke up, "this new development with the artifact is breaking down my defenses too quickly. In all honesty," here she paused to frown at the flames, "I'm scared." Any other time Hermione would have saved her friends from the worry now etched on their faces, minus the furious look Lavender was sending her way, but something told her that hiding it would help no one.

"Scared! The great Hermione Granger is finally able to admit she is scared!"

_Is she 'that' frustrated over not getting any? They're Malfoys! Blah._

"And at the worst possible time, too. Here! Let me go retrieve His Highness The Dark Lord so he can coddle you and whisk away your horrible nightmares!" Lavender mockingly pranced over to the door, "I know, let's just stop fighting all together and settle down into this miserable Mudblood-hating world!"

_Oh…Lavender…_

Lavender did not wait for a response but rather tore out of the room angrily. Luna, having been startled from her musings by the angry rant, smiled apologetically at Hermione before slowly walking after the upset girl. A silence settled over the two girls left in the room, and Hermione stole a sad glance down at her hands before decidedly breaking it.

"The Malfoys refuse to touch a Mudblood."

From the corner of her eye she could make out Ginny nodding her head in an affirmative motion, glancing up fully she could see clearly the ghost of a sympathetic frown marring the young red-head's features, whom it was for, Hermione was unsure.

"Lav's just frustrated," Ginny paused before reluctantly continuing, "she doesn't understand how Mr. I-Hate-All-Things-Muggle can ravish  _you_ , a Muggleborn, so eagerly in front of his Death Eaters while the Malfoys will have nothing to do with her."

Hermione winced, she knew that things would be hard on all of them, but being a Muggleborn just made things painful, and now she could understand that Lavender had it all the worse, "Ginny, you know as well as I do why Voldemort chose me. I am the last of the 'Golden Trio', Potter's Mudblood, the last poster child for the light. He enjoys the power having me gives him."

Hermione was startled by the disbelief dominating Ginny's glaring expression as the red head shook her head back and forth negatively.

"Hermione, you didn't see him yesterday. When you fell unconscious, it was like all of his control just vanished. I thought we were going to die. It was terrifying. Severus told me that Voldemort never loses control like that,  _ever!_ " The red-head bit down on her lower lip before bringing her knees flush against her chest, childlike.

Hermione stared transfixed as chestnut eyes roved over her strangely before their owner continued.

"I have seen people freak out over possessions, 'Mione. I had six brothers remember. Yesterday was definitely not a man defending his Quidditch Weekly, broom, room, rights to a girl, or whatever they fought over. I…I'm not sure what it was or if I want to guess, but it was scary for sure."

Hermione looked away from her confused friend,  _maybe, just maybe, my plan is working_ ,  _but I cannot discuss this out loud. Voldemort could be anywhere_. "I don't know, Ginny, true, Voldemort doesn't have the whole 'sibling rivalry' thing going on, but, I highly doubt it is more than a man being territorial of his possessions." Hermione was quick to note Ginny's increased frown, so in a desperate bid to pull the conversation away from the topic she questioned something the young red-head had said earlier, "first name basis, huh? Severus?"

Ginny's cheeks lit up like a tree on Christmas morning; a nervous fiddling of her fingers quickly accompanied the blush, "Yea, I think I have figured it out. What I am-"

"No, Ginny! Don't tell me. Just do it." Hermione smiled softly at the incredulous look on her friend's face. Ginny had every right to be shocked, too, because they were supposed to discuss their plans. They were supposed to plan a better future by manipulating and affecting their captors, but things were different and the future no longer needed their discussions of how they would save it. All of them survived the training and the war, now they had to shape the future.

_From this point on we will start following our instincts. You'd be proud of me, boys_.

"With the suddenness of events I think each of us doing our own thing is the best, and it will keep us out of unnecessary trouble. The air is full of danger and the closer we get to Mount Vesuvius, the thicker it gets. I get more and more uncomfortable with every passing hour. I have a bad feeling about this, Ginny."

"Me too, 'Mione. Me too. I don't like how that woman knows who you are or the fact that you have to be exposed to  _another_  artifact like the first one." Ginny looked nervously down at her fingers before making eye-contact with Hermione again.

"Honestly," here the younger woman smiled nervously up at her friend, "I'm kinda ok with Dark Lord Pompous-Arrogant-and-Petrifying's excessive possessiveness of you." A defiant smirk crooked across her face before slipping away in favor of the seriousness of her next words, "I doubt he would let any harm come to you unless he was the one doing the harming."

"Pompous and arrogant? I would think charming and brilliant are the words you were looking for, Mrs. Potter."

Hermione chose to ignore the sneaky Dark Lord's entrance and the quick pitter patter of her own startled heart in favor of frowning at her friend. The color had noticeably drained from under Ginny's freckles and her chestnut eyes dilated to an extraordinary level. Small hands, lightly dusted with freckles, clenched tightly around the arms of the chair she was now sitting ramrod straight in, "Ginny, I think you should breathe."

Said red head did not respond, serving to increase Hermione's worry, but before she could prompt her friend again Voldemort snapped.

"Breathe!"

Ginny's chest inflated quickly before she recoiled into the back of her seat wide eyes staring horrified at Voldemort, who was standing near the room's entrance. She had every right to be terrified, and Hermione guessed that Voldemort's show yesterday evening had buried a deeper seed of fear for the man. His fists were clenched and his body seemed to visibly quake with some kind of unnecessary annoyance, but most terrifying of all were those eyes that could send shivers down a dragon's spine, "did something happen?"

In a matter of three long strides, Hermione found herself settled against his chest; her body comfortably situated between his legs one of which was bent at the knee and the other stretched out, with his forearms crossed over her stomach. Ginny had attempted, in a moment of sheer hysteria, to rip through the back of the leather chair at his swift movements, and upon finding she could not, seemed to be considering clambering over the back.

"Nothing out of the ordinary. Sit!"

Ginny dropped to the seat cushion like a rock, gripping her knees tightly. Sweat had broken out on her brow, across her lip, Voldemort's display must have truly petrified the woman. Turning her head to get a better look at the man in question, Hermione nudged him gently with her shoulder. "How scary were you yesterday?"

"Hmm. I am always scary, but her response should be answer enough to your inquisition."

Hermione rolled her eyes at 'inquisition' before carefully observing the way Voldemort glared at Ginny making her friend whimper in response.

"I'm not going to kill you or torture you so stop!"

Tears pricked at the corners of Ginny's eyes and her breathing increased erratically, both actions increasing the rage boiling up around the link in Hermione's mind. Quickly she turned away from the furious male gripping her tightly. "Ginny, you should go."

"No!"

Hermione was flabbergasted at his outburst. The loud boom of his voice had halted Ginny's attempt to scramble out of the chair. One of her legs dangling over the arm of her seat while the other dug into the cushion ready to propel her forward toward the door. The position looked uncomfortable but the red-head did not dare move, and Hermione realized that the girl was frozen with fear. A murderous aura had seeped into the room sending a chilling sensation down Hermione's spine as the danger of the situation suddenly hit her. Taking in a deep breath, she kissed the underside of Voldemort's jaw before looking back at her friend. "Stay and talk with me a little longer, Gin, please."

Hermione guessed that the warning in her own eyes was enough to send Ginny back to sitting in her seat, knees crushed to her chest.

"Sure, 'Mione," Ginny's voice trembled but bravely she pressed on, "how 'bout you tell me how you feel about getting closer to Vesuvius."

_Bless her_ , Ginny had said the magic words. Voldemort's arms tightened around Hermione's middle, but the murderous air had swiftly morphed into a protective-curiosity. She could feel that his attention was now centered on her, and she planned to keep it that way.

"Anxious, nervous, and scared. Truthfully, my stomach is all knots and my heart rate seems to constantly be on an uphill. I do not like this at all. I know something other than that artifact is waiting for us, something big."

"Nothing will touch you. Mrs. Potter was correct in her assumption that I will allow no harm to come to you unless by my own hand. You are mine, Hermione, and I take very good care of my possessions."

Hermione deadpanned, and she had no doubt in her mind that Ginny had forgotten her fear for the moment to do the same thing.

"Ok, so I'm starting to think you are somewhat right, 'Mione."

Voldemort was suddenly glaring at the red-head across the room, but the fear-inducing-effect seemed to have dimmed a bit because Ginny pressed on, "the only amendment I have is that he does have sibling rivalry, but with the whole world." Suddenly, both females were ignoring the man in question as Ginny laid out her hypothesis, "for example, I remember this one time before Bill married Fleur. We all knew that Ron had this huge crush on her, but it turns out that so did Charlie, weird, right? So, when Bill found out that his two brothers were not only flirting with her shamelessly and showering her with gifts, but that they were literally trying to steal her, he was rightly pissed. Of course, around this time Bill was also very new to the werewolf world, too. Well, Bill walked in on Charlie trying to sweet talk a very uncomfortable Fleur into a 'walk' outside. Dad, Fred, George, and Moody had to physically restrain Bill from ripping Charlie to shreds. It was actually really scary to witness. He practically carried Fleur upstairs and did not come down for a while and no one dared to interrupt them."

Hermione turned her attention back to the thoroughly annoyed and ignored Voldemort, cocking her head to the side thoughtfully. "Hmm, you do growl a lot."

Voldemort stared down at Hermione impassively, "I am neither a dog nor a wolf, Mrs. Potter, and from your story the boy obviously had the right to defend his territory and remind her who she belongs to."

_Oh, how silly of me, you definitely don't act like a wild animal defending his territory…_

Ginny, as if sensing Hermione's sarcastic thought, pointed out a very interesting fact, "you know, after the scene you made last night, Remus would not stop referring to you as being the Alpha Male, albeit, he always got frustrated when he did, but he still did."

Hermione could hear the embarrassment burning in Ginny's speech, and she felt mildly guilty for sharing such private information so carelessly; however, before Hermione could comment a yawn made her burry her head into Voldemort's chest,  _so sleepy_. The atmosphere shifted again with Voldemort's ever-changing maelstrom of emotions, but Hermione was struck silent by his next words.

"The beast in me is far more terrifying than any werewolf, Mrs. Potter, and you would do well to remember what transpired last night. Hermione is mine, will  _always_  be mine, and if someone wishes to dispute my claim on her, then I will obliterate them, destroy them, rip their very name from history and burn it at the stake along with the rest of their pathetic being. Nothing will remain." His arms tightened around her body and his chin rested possessively over her head. "What I did to that foolish, gryphon woman was child's play compared to what I will do to anyone who dares endanger Hermione. They will know to never touch her.  _Ever,_ for as long as I exist."

A silence settled and Hermione peeked over towards Ginny, her friend was transfixed on Voldemort's face inches above Hermione's, a contemplative expression on her freckled face.

"Alright, but I have two questions. If you do not mind that is."

Hermione felt Voldemort nod.

"One. Do you refer to all of your possessions by name?"

"You do recall Nagini, Mrs. Potter."

A brief smile flashed across Ginny's face making Hermione extremely curious as to why; however, the need to hear Ginny's second question curved her curiosity quite effectively.

"Two," all humor suddenly fled Ginny's demeanor, "who will protect her when you no longer exist?"

A silence, haunting, and uncomfortable settled in the room causing Hermione to clench the front of Voldemort's robes as Ginny's words ricocheted through her mind,  _no longer exist_. She vaguely registered the feel of Voldemort's tense body and possessive grip. The way Ginny's chestnut eyes bore into the space above her head with such intense sincerity almost went unrecognized as the sudden epiphany of Ginny's words struck Hermione _._

_What they faced was unknown magic…powerful unknown magic. Gryfo couldn't even be harmed by Crucio…what if his Horcruxes didn't matter…what if it could kill him_.  _What did it matter?_

"You forget, Mrs. Potter, I always will."

But, the strange uncharacteristic self-doubt hovering around the edge of his words did little to quail Hermione's sudden epiphany. The conversation was dead because they all knew…it was a possibility.

_Why did the thought of him not here scare her?_

* * *

Mount Vesuvius, in all of its dismal glory proudly dawned on the horizon filling Hermione's vision and haunting it like a bad omen. Metaphorical butterflies equipped with steel serrated wings wreaked havoc in her stomach while her heart thumped painfully against her sternum. Lungs fought for air against her ribcage and a water pipe seemed to have sprung a leak in her palms. Tight clammy fists rubbed nervously up and down her jeans, and she could taste a vile horror like the poisonous ash that destroyed the city grounds she stood on. The fear-induced adrenaline pumping blood swiftly through her veins magnified all of her senses: snapping twigs were cannon fire, small cracks looked to be chasms, and the salt carried on the wind felt like razors against her skin.  _This is going to be a bad, bad experience._

Gryfo, in her Gryphon form, had led them from the train to the ruins of Pompeii. Interestingly enough, for most of the journey Hermione had been completely distracted by Gryfo's form. From the waist down were the powerful legs of a lion: the long tail was fur tipped and lining each side of the tail were rows of long feathers laid flat against the fur that acted as a rudder. The rest of her body was grey, except for the mass of random gold feathers on her crown. This part of Gyfo's form was distinctly bird-like, favoring a falcon, with long thick front legs, expansive silver-tipped wings, and a powerful black beak. The long feather tipped ears inlaid in a unique brush of golden feathers were constantly moving like a satellite trying to catch the best frequency. Having never seen a gryphon before, and having resigned herself to never seeing one, Hermione was fascinated.

It was not until she collided with the back of Voldemort that she realized where they were: Pompeii, a fitting place for her demise especially with the powerful dark aura coming off it,  _uh, I'm going to be sick._  The scholar in Hermione could not help but to be awed by the destruction. Pompeii to Muggles was just a terrible, unforeseen natural disaster; however, to magical historians and the Wizarding world, Pompeii was so much more, a mystery. The city had been a very large magical community, the largest in fact to have lived outside of Muggle influence and should NOT have been wiped out by a volcano of any degree. There were spells and wards to prevent such things from happening, but nothing had saved Pompeii. Ministry officials back in the day had been completely and utterly horrified to find the city destroyed and all the people dead. Only a couple of witches and wizards had had the drive to study the remains of Pompeii since then; yet all of them left within a week, claiming they lost interest. The more prestigious scholars believed that during the Roman's time, a Dark Wizard had been playing around with the Dark Arts and had caused the city's demise. Politicians and the general public, on the other hand, thought the city was cursed. No one truly knew what happened.

"You're going to be sick aren't you?"

Hermione looked up into the red eyes of her… _her what?_  "I think I will be fine, but there is a massive amount of dark magic coming off this place that's making me feel nauseous." She swallowed in an attempt to fight off the rising bile. "Do you think what I am feeling is what prevented the people of Pompeii from protecting themselves?"

A smirk made his lips fall crooked as he looked down at her. "You are sick, going to be confronted with another artifact, might be facing incredulous odds against who knows what, and all you can think of is the Mystery of Pompeii." A swift, long finger to her lips silenced her outburst. "You are astonishing, my innocent. Maybe, if we are lucky, we will discover all the secrets of this place." The smirk fell and was replaced by a blank mask of indifference. "Come now, we have business to attend to, and I do not want you straying from my side."

Hermione blinked at him owlishly as he drug her forward toward a blank wall pressed into a large rocky hill where Gryfo and the others had stopped. The gryphon was currently cleaning out large runes caked with ash and sand. Weird magic was flowing off Gryfo's massive frame in olive colored waves and before Hermione knew it, the wall was shifting apart like a pair of sliding glass doors revealing a massive black hole that she had no doubt they would be using to get inside of Vesuvius.

"I meant what I said, Hermione. Stay by my side at all times. Do NOT stray away."

_Sigh, if my experience with Harry's adventures are anything to go by…me 'straying' will be the least of our worries._  Instead of voicing her thoughts Hermione only nodded and gripped his hand tightly.

"Curiosity killed the cat, Hermione!"

* * *

She was yelling at herself because no one else was there to do it for her and her attempt at pacing back and forth in the thick sand only increased her frustration.

"Why on earth would you go looking after a mysterious, ghostly voice that so happened to know your name! It's not intelligent, it's not. It's stupid!"

Her aggravation had first been induced by an irritating Dark Lord but was now solely directed at her stupidly curiously-suspicious self.

"I blame you, Harry, for this crazy need to check out everything that looks and sounds suspicious!" Her head was thrown back, so she could glare daggers at the black abyss where the ceiling should have been. Voldemort's words to her about staying close guiltily danced through her brain as she tried, in vain, to broadcast her distress to him through their link, said link, however, was currently being blocked by something in the volcano.

"I shouldn't feel that guilty though, because it's his fault as well." The last moments she spent with the group were less than agreeable for her taste: after they had traversed the bleak underground tunnels leading from Pompeii to Vesuvius,  _tunnels that probably had a hand in the destruction of Pompeii,_  they had encountered a massive living hall. Grypho, now as a human, had informed them that it was the Grand Meeting Hall for the Vesuvius Dwarves. Hermione had to admit, even if she hated the artifact that caused her demise, that Dwarven craftsmanship was jaw dropping: the stone statues of Dwarven warriors weaving in and out of the stone tables and chairs of the massive room were so life-like. She expected one to move at any moment. In the front of the room, facing the crowd of statues, was a large throne fit only for the Drakka and a step down to the left and right of the throne were two smaller throne-like chairs. In each was an exceptionally crafted stone Dwarf. The most shocking part of each statue in the room was how they were posed. Some were walking, as if pacing, others were facing one another as if talking. It was for lack of a better word weird, but beautiful all the same. A large hole in the far-right wall, caved in and completely inaccessible, turned out to be the underground tunnels used to travel between the tons of underground Dwarven cities spread throughout Italy, including Mount Etna and Stromboli.

Their half-gryphon guide had completely by-passed the hall in a rush to pass through a smaller archway that led them straight to a wall of poorly scribbled runes. Here, the blonde,  _seductively,_ informed Voldemort that the runes were the key to getting to the artifact; however, Gryfo, in spite of knowing how to open the first door, knew nothing about how these runes worked.  _What a bunch of bull!_  So they set to work trying to figure them out, which was when the problem began: Voldemort and Snape had fallen into a familiar rhythm to study the ruins, moving around one another with such practiced ease it was uncanny. The polished dynamic between the two caused Hermione's smartly offered suggestions to be waved off as insignificant, and when she finally crashed through their movements to point something out she was yelled at and sent to the corner like a child in time-out. Completely flustered and beyond the point of angry Hermione sat on her small rock and just glared daggers at their backs. It was then that a strange voice had called to her from a small alcove near the left wall of the room they were all waiting in. Her companions seemed to be completely oblivious to the breathy voice flowing out of the opening. Their attention was either fixated on Snape and Voldemort or drawing designs in the dust on the ground, which should have been warning enough that following the voice was a bad idea; however, she was frustrated and what better way to get back at Voldemort than to stray away and find something useful…or bad.

Now, Hermione Jean Granger was currently trapped in a massive coliseum of sorts with thick, cube-shaped metal bars barring her way back to the group.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid! I am in so mu…."

*Click*

Hermione's head dropped limply to look at the sand covered plate that had suddenly dropped into the floor from the weight of her body. Confusion settled in, and just as she realized what her foot was currently pushing into the ground, the sound of heavy chains clanging on the stone floor echoed from across the room. A loud scruff alerted her to something moving and the sound of metal tearing at stone had her heart palpating against her chest. Swallowing thickly and gathering her courage, Hermione slowly turned a half circle in the deep sand to peer into the massive void of a doorway at the opposite side of the coliseum. Liquid dread, ice cold and fiery hot, doused her mind as a low rumbled growl, far too loud for your typical animal to create at such a distance, shook her to the core. Perspiration broke out on her upper lip and lower neck when slow but loud thumps rattled the floor beneath her feet.

A massive obscure silhouette had formed in the doorway by the time the thumps stopped and a puff of dust broke out from behind the black hole of the doorway. A strange shimmer of gold reflected out from the hole where the figure stood, but before she could analyze the information further, another thud brought Hermione's eyes down to the massive, golden paw peeking out from beneath the shroud of black. Large metallic claws sliding out as the paw flexed under the creature's weight. Nausea boiled up in the pit of her stomach and her mouth was suddenly too dry as her eyes swept slowly upward, stopping where the puff of dust had originated from.

A worn and scarred pink nose, situated between a massive maw of razor sharp teeth and two glittering green cat eyes, flared out and erupted with another puff of dust.  _Oh, you have got to be kidding me…_

 


	11. Just Keep Going

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Large cats, night caps, and two saps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long overdue update. Do not own any characters but will claim the plot.

The glyphs Severus and he had been studying were glowing.  A soft humming noise accompanying the pulsing light, which seemed to be the same strange shade Grypho had been emanating outside.  He could feel Severus hovering near his right side, slightly behind him, obviously startled by the sudden development.  The pulsing light increased in intensity, but kept its frequency. The hum, on the other hand, continued to rise until it melded into one deafening sound. The ground started to tremble and with one blinding flash the wall, with the glowing glyphs, vanished.  A large darkened archway left in its place, leading to what appeared to be a lit set of descending stone steps.  Cautiously, Voldemort moved toward the first step and peered down.  There seemed to be a softly lit room at bottom landing.  He narrowed his eyes and began the decent.  Halfway down a roar shook the small chamber, making him pause and glance back toward Severus, a non-existent brow raised.  Severus met his stare and slowly drew his wand from the inside of his robes.  Quick movement at the opening where he started brought his attention to a wide eyed red head, clinching a hand to her chest, “Hermione’s missing!”

 

A knot of dread settled in his gut and instantly he reached out for her link.  Nothing.  This whole time he had been operating without the gentle brush of their link.  Fear raced up his spine and before his mind could registered what was going on he was down the stairs and rushing through a narrow stone corridor.  He was vaguely aware of hurried footsteps following him and the sharp edges of the rock catching his robes as he took corners just a tad too tightly.  The ground began to shake as if something very large were stamping its feet rapidly.  _YOU WERE SUPPOSE TO STAY PUT!!_

 

The trembling was getting impressive, making it hard for him to maintain balance at his current speed and increasing the number of nicks he received from the rough wall.  Loud growls and rumbles accompanied the stomps and somehow, he forced himself to move faster.  Gritting his teeth, he rounded a corner as hard as he could, using a long leg and foot against the opposite wall to propel himself forward.  A particularly jagged edge snagged his sleeve and ripped a nasty line across the flesh of his arm, but he never flinched.  Voldemort burst free of the tight tunnels into a massive room, sliding to a stop on the sandy floor several feet from the opening.  The trembling was at its peak and loud growls brought his attention to the center of the colossal room.  A lion, the size of a Hungarian Horntail, was bouncing around on all fours, occasionally hunkering down on its fore-paws with its tail swinging high in the air before dancing back with a twist on its hind-paws.  It looked like an oversized puppy as it spun in bouncy circles and the focus of its playful attention was a snow-white lioness pressed against a large gate with cube shaped bars.

 

 _Hermione_!  His heart clenched.  He knew it was her.  Fury, rage, relief, elation, fear, and something he would not place a name to wrecked his mind.  She was safe.  Her ears were laid flat, golden eyes wide and she seemed to be shifting along the gates wall away from the creature.  She was the size of the beast’s paw and looked to be favoring her right side by staying low to the ground and holding one paw away from the sand beneath her.  Suddenly the massive lion charged her.

 

“Argh!  Look at me!”

 

Both lions swiveled their heads to look at him, but it was the bright green orbs the size of a child that he focused on, locking them to his black and red gaze.  The blown pupil of the cat’s eyes narrowed to slits at the challenge and he stepped forward, chest inflating as he prepared to roar at the intruding male.  _You are mine!_

 

“ _Imperio!”_

* * *

_A lion!  A GIANT ASS LION!  Why couldn’t it have been a turtle!_

 

The massive cat had fully emerged from the doorway, head held high above the ground.  It had started to blink uncomfortably once the light reached the green orbs and was now using one paw to rub them furiously.  Hermione took a moment to realize that the creature was struggling to adjust to the change in light from its cave.  _Think while its distracted!  Walls too high to climb, nowhere to hide, just a bunch of SAND!  It’s a LION for pete’s sake, a Lio…Oh.  Can’t hurt._

 

Concentrating Hermione closed her eyes and suddenly felt the strange pull and twist of her shifting form.  Opening them once more she was half the height she had been and now had furry white paws.  She took a moment to flex her new appendage displaying sharp black claws before relaxing and drawing them back in.  Huffing she turned her attention back to the much larger, gold and metallic, clearly male version of her new form.  It had obliviously fixed the ‘I-can’t-see-cause-it-is-too-bright-problem’ and was staring at her curiously, head titled to the side slightly.  _I’m gonna die…_

 

Before she could react, the beast’s pupils dilated and it charged forward, sliding to a heart thumping stop before her.  Sand blew up into her face making her sneeze aggressively and rub at her face furiously to dislodge the grains from her eyes.   A loud purr filled the space in front of her and before she knew it a massive paw clopped her in her right side knocking her to the ground. When the paw connected with her a loud pop and crack caused a searing pain to burst up from her side and shoulder. She was momentarily blinded by the pain but she could feel the lion bounce away, making the ground tremble and another pain to shoot through her body. Oh, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts!!

Carefully, Hermione used her remaining three legs to lift herself from the sand, keeping herself low and trying to keep the injured paw/leg from touching anything. The beast was prancing in circles like a kitten on acid.  Ok, ok, it wants to play. Breathe, push the pain down, think what to do. Slowly Hermione began to edge her back legs toward the adjacent wall to the gate she was facing away from, and then the lion turned and rushed at her. Oh, sh..

“Argh! Look at me!”

Her head swiveled to the left, forgetting the intense pain when she saw him standing at the top of the numerous stairs of the colosseum. His robes were tattered as if ripped repeated by little jagged claws. The bright red color of his eyes seemed to be rushing out of a particularly large rip in his upper arm. He was hurt.

“Imperio!”

The beast froze before letting out another roar that made her ear drums tremble in pain and then it was lunging toward a completely surprised Dark Lord. Ignoring the burning pain in her body Hermione dashed forward and sunk, or tried to sink, her teeth and claws into the monster’s back leg. It felt like she was trying to bite into a hunk of metal, much softer, but no less painful though. Her attempt at hurting the beast posed enough distraction to bring its attention around to where she proceeded to flex her jaw painfully and awkwardly shift backwards away from the massive threat. A menacing growl and large teeth the size of her body advanced toward her before flashes of bright green light brought its attention back toward Voldemort. A screech from above announced the arrival of Grypho and the lion began to bat at the air with massive paws, metallic claws extended. Its tail swooped around and caught Hermione unawares, knocking her legs out from under her and causing her to crash to the ground on her wounded side. The pain threatened to suck her into the world of unconscious, but she fought it off furiously. Grypho had swirled away and drew the lion with her, removing Hermione from the threat of being trampled to death as she laid prone, trying to recover from the hit.

She felt frantic hands moving through her hair and over her cheek, _pain must have made me change back,_ before moving to her chest checking for a heartbeat and breathing, “Hermione, open your eyes,” she refused to do as he told her, still, piteously angry at him for earlier, “open your eyes, damn it! Hermione!” She grit her teeth, refusing him, “NOW!” And then he grabbed her injured side.

Her eyes shot wide and a sob filled whimper burst from her mouth at the same time that she slammed a fist into his chest, “THAT HURTS!” Relief vanished under his rage but before he could strangle the life out of her, Grypho shot past their heads, slamming into the sandstone wall before crumbling to the floor in a heap of feathers and fur. Hermione turned back to her stunned lover? before looking toward the massive creature skulking all predator like toward their location, “It’s fur is hard like metal. I could not penetrate it with my teeth or claws,” she turned to find Voldemort listening to her intently, “the claws and teeth seem to be metallic, but,” she swallowed hesitantly and looked away from his eyes, what if it doesn’t work. We’ll die. He’ll die. I…I don’t want him...

“Hermione, what!?” Voldemort had grabbed her chin and yanked it up to look at him once more, “tell me, smart girl.”

She bit her lip, as she looked from one red and black eye to the other, the trembled growing in vibration as the lion approached her. His grip increased on her chin and frustrated tears pricked at her eyes, “it’s mouth!”

In slow motion Voldemort released her chin, magic swirling up his being as he rose to his full height, towering over her. He drew his wand back whipping it over his head, a sudden burst of moist hot air rushed over her and she knew it was going in for the biting kill. I don’t want him to die! Shoving the pain aside, Hermione pushed herself up and wrapped her arms around Voldemort’s torso simultaneously ripping the barrier between their bonds down and forcing every ounce of her magic to him. The brightest of green flared past the thin membrane of her eyelids and a resounding, Earth quaking crash followed. Everything fell silent. There were no more roars, trembles, or thuds to fill the void. Trembling she drew back, still clinging to his cloak, and looked over her shoulder. There the beast lay, eyes a solid lifeless green, maw gaping wide and smoking, and a long tongue staining the sand with saliva.

A smooth long fingered hand wrapped loosely around her throat and she closed her eyes, I forgot about my punishment, but the hand moved up her neck one thumb pressing her chin upward as his palm cupped her jaw. Smooth lips covered her own and his other arm drew her to him carefully before releasing her mouth and pressing a sweat coated forehead to her own. She finally noticed his heavy breathing and the slight tremble in his frame, “Don’t. Ever. Do. That. Again.” His voice was cool and stern, but she could hear the fading fear in its depth.

“I’m sorry,” it came out unexpectedly, a whisper full of her own fear and remorse for what she did to him; for almost losing him. She opened her eyes to find him looking back. His expression was emotionless, but his eyes were raging with a swirl of emotion she could not put a single name too. She reached up and pulled his mouth back to her own, kissing him hard and desperate and he drew her closer. Her hand moved up his arm and the wetness she felt there made her jerk from the embrace, looking at the bright red on her hand, “your hurt!”

A burst of his magic healed the wound before he pulled her back to him, kissing her senseless, fingers driving deep into her brown curls, and tilting her head for better access to her mouth. Moaning she went to pull herself closer before cringing and biting his lip sharply. He released her with a snarl but before he could react she reached her good arm to her injured side, wincing noticeably. She felt a rush of fury invade their link before it vanished, and then he was brushing past her, “secure the relic. We’re returning to the train.”

Hermione grit her teeth and pushed her emotions back before putting up her own barriers between their link. She looked toward Grypho, but found her missing. Suddenly a female hand was offering her a cloak made of golden fur, “The Nemean Lion, his fur is impenetrable and will serve you well as a strong cloak. It is light as a feather.”

Slowly Hermione looked toward Grypho, blank face and fathomless eyes before she turned and struggled after the others. When the lion fell the bars locking Hermione in had vanished and now the group was filing out. Voldemort had long left.

“Please take it.”

She paused and clenched her fists tighter, giving Grypho enough time to place the cloak gently on her shoulders.

“Men are not strange creatures, Hermione. Sometimes when they get scared or really shaken up they get angry or furious. I don’t know what I am trying to say especially because you’re crazy for,” the blonde waved her hand toward the exit exasperatedly, “anyway, you didn’t see how fast he moved. Pain or not.”

Grypho shift back to her Griffin form before leaving the colosseum and her behind. She waited until the click of her talons were faint before drawing the skin close around her frame and making her way back, painfully to the train. Eyes distant, heart aching, and body screaming. Just keep going, ‘Mione.

 

Hermione’s clothes were soaked through with sweat by the time she reached the tracks and the train door. The moon was high, helping her find her way, but showing off the dark circles forming under her eyes and the waxy pallor of her flesh. Her deep breathing, expanding her injured ribs, was making bile rise in the back of her throat, but she pushed it down, nothing to vomit up anyway. The steps where the hardest especially having to pull herself up using the hand bar; however, she gallantly made it to the top and inside the cabin, the dining cabin to be exact. Still she did not shed any tears but instead made her way to the stupid little bar in the corner and grab a big bottle of fire-whiskey. Huffing she left the train almost falling over at the drop and giving up then and there. She had a goal though. Somehow, she made it to the train roof still holding the fire-whiskey. Exhausted she lowered herself to the cold metal and looked skyward. The moon was very bright tonight like that night. The bottle cap came off easily enough and was tossed away precariously over the edge of the train. It burned going down so she took another long drag from the bottle, gagging slightly from the sour taste and the heat but enjoying the light feeling it brought to her brain. One more long swig and she laid back against the cool metal, giving her protesting ribs a break by relaxing her abdominal muscles. She closed her eyes and could see that night as clear as day.

***

_“Hermione! It is freezing out here! Come back in, please,” Harry’s drunk form stumbled down into a very awkward sitting position next to her._

_She grinned loudly at him with her eyes, “how on Earth did you make it all the way out here in THAT state, Harry! The house isn’t even in sight!” His bright green eyes peered out from under his arm at her and a stupid little grin crooked his lips._

_“Just like why you sit out here,” suddenly he straightened and fluffed the front of his sweater, “it’s a secret.”_

_Her eyes went wide at the sudden soberness in his tone, “and what are you talking about, Mr. Potter.”_

_A chuckle visibly shook his shoulders as he tilted his head back to look up at the large moon, new not full, “It’s a secret where you go when you disappear, for sure, but the real secret is why.”_

_“Ah, then do enlighten me. Why does Miss. Granger, know-it-all extraordinaire, slip away into the night and sit by the lake at temperatures more than likely well below freezing,” she spread her arms wide before huddling into her sweater dramatically. Smiling she peaked up to see Harry smiling at her, a bit sadly._

_“So you can keep going,” her smile slipped, “I always wondered how, when everything hurts and there is an inevitability on the horizon. When troops need bolstering and someone needs comforting and you exhaust your voice and smiles to make the world seem easier. I always wondered how you kept going without someone to do that for you,” she quickly looked away to the glistening lake, “then I realized. You do that too. Just away from everyone so they don’t see the weakness, the break in your armor and get worried because the strong pillar that kept them all up was crumbling just a tad bit.”_

_“Maybe,” she looked over to him with a soft smile, “you’re on to something,” her eyes glistening with unshed tears as Harry wrapped his fingers around her hand tightly._

_“Just keep going, ‘Mione.”_

_Hermione looked back out to the lake and the moon and the trees and let everything crumble._

_“Just keep going, ‘Mione,” her voice was slurred slightly with the drink, the tears and the pain._

The bottle she was gripping slipped upward through her fingers like reverse gravity, making her furrow her brow, bottles did NOT fall upwards.

***

“And where are you going?”

Her heart jumped and her eyes shot open. Red eyes, just red stared down at her, “foreword, I hope, or,” she glanced at the bottle of fire-whiskey held loosely in his hand, “off ‘with the fairies’ if I can get that bottle back.”

He hummed before sitting above her head, his bare feet flat against the metal roof near her waist and his knees bent over her spread arms. He was in black slacks and a white Oxford with the top few buttons undone. “The drink let your walls down.”

She hummed in response before what he said sunk in. A sharp pain lanced through her body as she tried to sit up, fighting the pain, he saw my memory! Her struggle ended when he pulled her up and back against his chest, but the pain continued, “that was not for you…”

“But I did see it!” It was a snarl as he locked his arm around her tightly, “and here you are dreaming of your Potter staring at the moon. Pining I would say!”

She stopped her struggling suddenly and closed her eyes tears spilling over, “hahahaha, no, even after seeing something emotional and real you cannot see the point of it,” anger bubbled up from behind her, from him, “you think I was ‘pining’ for my dead best friend, who I do miss terribly, when I pull up that memory! That couldn’t be further from the truth,” she turned her head to glare at him from the corner of her eyes and the tears, “I bring that memory up to remember that no matter how much it ‘hurts’ just absolutely hurts, mentally, physically, emotionally,” she was yelling at him now, “no matter how much! I can still get up! I can still smile! That I can still breathe one more time!”

Her muscles were tense and the pain was unbelievable and she wanted it to hurt. She wanted to remember that this man, this monster was a horrid beast that hurt her over and over and over again and that she would never love him like she was failing not to do. She was crying in earnest now. Sobs wracked her frame and made the pain blossom higher and higher with each tremble, “that I can come undone and the armor slip away!” She reached up and gripped her hair tight and she screamed the last part, “LET ME BE BARE FOR JUST ONE NIGHT!”

She cried loud and long. A mess of blotchy skin, swollen eyes, wet cheeks, and snotty nose curled in on itself, vulnerable and hurting. When she finally came around, sniffling and trembling, she was curled close to the Dark Lord’s chest. His arms wrapped loosely around her torso and his thighs supporting her bum. She was draped bridle style over his lap, her fingers wrapped tightly around his shirt and her face buried in his neck. The pain that wrecked her body earlier was gone and suddenly she felt very drained, very tired, and very raw, and Voldemort was still there, holding her gently. With a flick of his wrist he produced a handkerchief and offered it to her. Gratefully, she accepted and used the small cloth to clean herself up the best she could. Staring at the ruined cloth she suddenly felt a wave of guilt, “I’m sorry,” she tossed the ‘kerchief and gripped his shirt once again, “for wondering off and causing so much trouble. I, I was so angry at you for…”

His arms tightened around her before one hand drew up into her hair and tilted her face to face him. He shook his head before pressing his forehead to her own, “hush, what is done is done,” he paused and directed his eyes away from her face, “you are safe.”

What possessed her she would never tell anyone, but she reached up and framed his face before bringing his lips to her own. Kissing him chastely before pulling away, “thank you,” at his raised brow she looked down and smiled at his collar, “for saving me, even if it was not your intention, and for tonight,” her eyes looked up to his, bare and open, “for making me and letting me be,” she took a shaky breath, “bare.”

She pulled his mouth to hers once again and coaxed him into deepening it, which he was happy to oblige her. He breathed in deeply before rolling her onto her back, pressing her body into the train roof with his own. His tongue slid along hers in a slow sinuous manner, drawing a long moan from her chest. She groaned her dislike as he pulled away, whispering soft words that vanished their clothes. A gasp erupted from kiss stained lips as the warm night air hit her bare skin, but soon faded to a moan of pleasure as Voldemort rocked against her. Heated kisses worked their way up her neck, finding her lips effortlessly. Small hands slid along his back, slightly scratching her encouragement as she whispered against his lips, “Voldemort.”

It was different. No rush to the finish or to have him buried as deep as possible, well not so soon at least. She explored his flesh with her hands as he converged upon her breasts with hands and mouth. She whimpered in pleasure as he laved her sensitive skin with his tongue. Hips rose to make contact with his flat stomach and her legs curved to caress down the backs of his long legs, settling in the bend of his knee. She used the new footing and her arms to press herself more firmly against him and was rewarded with a pleasured gasp from him. Mouth and tongue made its way back to her own, shifting his body further up and rubbing his hard member against her center. Groans of pleasure vibrated their conjoined lips and Hermione whimpered against him. Voldemort shift back and lined himself up with her warm, wet heat and Hermione pulled away from his kiss. They kept eye contact, faces pressed close together, as he pushed into her all the way to the hilt.

The new moon kissed their flesh as the couple moved as one beneath the stars and the heavens above, seeking pleasure, comfort, and something new.


End file.
